Batman: Rebirth
by David Golightly
Summary: R & R, please! My own take on establishing a new ongoing Batman title post-Rebirth. I have several arcs planned, beginning with "Fools on Parade," which will feed into "The Hospital of Pain." Featuring Batman, Robin (Damien), Nightwing, and more.
1. Fools on Parade - Part One

**BATMAN #1**

" **Fools On Parade – Part One"**

 **Written D. Golightly**

Benny Smalls felt like he was going to throw up. He had run for three blocks straight, skirting rival territory and risking his reputation, as tiny as it was, but it didn't matter. He could already feel the bile pumping up into his throat, although he couldn't tell if it was from physical strain or pure fear.

Rounding the corner by catching the lamppost, which splashed disjointed light through the cracked glass case over the bulb, Benny nearly tripped over the first stoop in a series of row houses. Catching himself, he vaulted the concrete plateau and doubled his efforts to get as far away as possible.

He hadn't expected the old man to fight back. He hadn't expected that the bag he was carrying was just full of fruit instead of something much more valuable. He hadn't expected to get so angry at the old man's audacity to actually punch him in the jaw. He hadn't expected to pull out his butterfly knife and plunge it into the old man's thigh.

He hadn't expected to draw the attention of _him_.

The crew he was jumping into, the 99ers, had a certain way of doing things. They were relatively new on the Gotham scene, but already they were making a name for themselves. Over the last year their numbers had doubled, and Benny knew that it he wanted to survive on the streets he needed to be counted among them. So, after the ritual beating to show how tough he was, he then had to pull a job on his own.

Benny spotted the old man coming out of the Cash 4 Coin joint on Carson Street carrying a big brown bag that just had to be filled with something good. Maybe he had picked up something he had pawned previously, or maybe it was some stacks of cash from selling his junk. Whatever it was, Benny could just take if off him and show it to the 99ers as proof of the robbery he would tell them he committed. What was the difference between a mugging and shoplifting anyway? Stealing was stealing as far as Benny cared.

But the old man screamed, fought back, and knocked Benny down. So, Benny stuck him. Then some teenagers coming out of the pawn shop spotted him and yelled. Benny took off. He would have to try again somewhere else.

As he knelt in an ally a few blocks away, sizing up a convenience store on 9th Street, he thought he was in the clear and wasn't planning on giving the old man a second thought. That's when he heard a deep, resonating voice from within the shadows of the ally.

"Aggravated assault and carrying a concealed weapon," the voice said.

Benny, tough guy that was proud of himself for not even whimpering after his ritual beating, nearly wet himself when he heard that voice. He knew who had spoken it and was shocked that _he_ would waste his time with someone like Benny.

Benny turned slightly, but was too scared to move more than that. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the darkness come to life. Twin white eyes blinked at him and he saw a glimmer of yellow wrapped around a black symbol.

"Heavy charges for a minor," the voice from the shadows continued. "And now you're casing your next target. That's premeditation."

"I…I…I don't…uh…" Benny couldn't even string a complete sentence together he was so terrified.

"Benjamin Fishburne," the voice continued. "At 15 years-old, they might decide to try you as an adult. That's two to six years depending on how generous the district attorney is feeling."

Benny stumbled over the garbage can he had been hiding behind and fell into the street. He didn't even know where he was running to, but all he cared about now was getting away from that voice.

From _him_.

The end of the block was coming up fast and he would have to choose which direction to run in next. How had he known Benny's name? Were the legends true? Was he more than a man? Some kind of demon? How else could he know his name and his age?

The squealing teens that yelled at him after he stuck the old man; they must have drawn his attention. Or was he really everywhere there was darkness in Gotham? Some said he was a part of the city, like something Gotham conjured up to take care of business. Right now, that business was Benny, and he was so panicked that he thought he might go crazy.

"Get away from me!" Benny managed to sputter, and he was surprised at his own courageousness.

The shadow moved closer. "You hospitalized that man," it said. "For what? Some fresh produce. Do you think the 99ers will bring you into the fold based on your ability to steal oranges?"

"How…how did you know that?"

"I know a great deal many things, Benjamin. I know that you were once arrested for selling crystal meth. I know that you were a corner boy running between the stash and the bank. I know that your mother is worried about you."

Benny's eyes went wide. Everything he had heard about the Batman, about how it was some kind of mind-reading spawn that anticipated your every move, was true. How could he know all of this? Benny was a nobody. A no-one. There was no reason for someone, some _thing_ like the Batman to even knew he existed. Yet here he was, cowering before an urban myth.

"What do you want?"

Finally, the shadow stopped moving toward him. It paused, perhaps considering. Perhaps it would let him live. It stood watching him silently for what seemed like an eternity, as if it were weighing his very soul in judgement.

"One street over there is a police precinct," it finally said.

"Yeah. I know." Benny nodded furiously. "I'll turn myself in. No problem."

"Tell the desk sergeant that you want to speak with Detective Millard. In a town that is so ready to embrace the darkness, he is a man of integrity. Confess to him what you did tonight. Tell him that you will plead guilty."

"Right. Of course! You got it. Just let me go."

The shadow silently moved a single step closer.

"I am watching you, Benjamin Fishburne. If you do not do as I have said tonight, I will know."

As Benjamin, whose street name was Benny Smalls on account of his short stature, slid out of the ally he could have sworn that he saw a twisted smile creep onto the face of the Batman. But that was insane. Nothing that dark, that had to be born from a nightmare, could possibly feel happiness. No, Benny Smalls was sure that his imagination was tricking him into making the encounter seem worse than it had actually been.

But he wouldn't tell Detective Millard that when he saw him in the next few minutes.

And he was definitely going to use his one phone call to tell his mom that he loved her.

* * *

"I'm just saying I think it's an invasion of privacy," Dick Grayson said.

Batman watched from his perch on the corner of a rooftop, overlooking the 52nd Precinct between 10th and 11th, as Benjamin Fishburne pumped his legs as hard as he could to get inside the police station. The youth had been sufficiently pushed psychologically into doing what Batman had wanted him to do, which was ultimately for the better. He had spotted the mugging gone wrong back at the pawn shop too late, but had easily followed the perp by running along the top edges of the buildings. He had learned long ago that the people in this city rarely looked up, making it easy to hide in plain sight regardless of his urban camouflage.

Once Benjamin was inside, Batman finally spoke in response to Dick's comment. He barely whispered, but the throat-microphone woven into his costume would pick up the vibrations of his vocal folds easily enough. "Accessing public records isn't a violation of anyone's privacy," Batman stated.

The earpiece inside his cowl relayed his former protégé's comments from their subterranean headquarters to his current location in downtown Gotham. "Not exactly," Dick replied. "First, you used facial recognition software linked to the cowl's lenses to identity this kid, and then pulled his rap sheet up on your palm-top holo-display. You scared the bejeezus out of him. I'm surprised he didn't pee his pants. He probably thought you were reading his mind or something. Second, you're using the term 'public' pretty loosely. The file is stored at a public agency, but isn't necessarily a public record."

"You know better than anyone that what I do is just as much imagery and theatrics as it is deduction and legwork."

"Sure," Dick conceded. "And tapping into GCPD sealed juvenile records certainly helps. I'm just saying that the ethics are a little sketchy. The part about his mother was a nice touch. How did you know that?"

Batman stepped back from the ledge, content that the matter was resolved. The night was still young and he had a lot of ground to cover before dawn. The black and grey of his costume absorbed what little moonlight there was this evening, and the remainder could be sucked in by his jet-black cape if need be. While few people in Gotham looked skyward, in recent years he had learned that just as much danger could come from above: satellite tracking, drones, and even the occasional aerial criminal. While there was no imminent threat as he moved across the roof, he could never be too careful.

Reaching the opposite side, and now facing north, he reached around to the small of his back and retrieved his gas-powered grappler. His older models had used cartridges to propel the line, but they were too noisy and might draw attention. The compressed carbon dioxide cylinders were whisper silent, but the trade-off was that the line wouldn't shoot as far.

Extending his arm, he targeted a ledge two buildings up from his current position. The line launched out, its end fastened to a 440C steel arrowhead with pressure sensitive egress barbs. The arrowhead buried itself in the face of the cement ledge and the force of impact released the barbs on either side of the arrowhead, effectively wedging it into the cement. The line would hold twice his own bodyweight, possibly more.

"A lucky guess," Batman responded as he jumped off into the night and hit the button to retract the line. He silently flew over the open street to the next ledge, continuing his patrol. "I saw that his mother was still listed as his primary guardian in his file. Every child, deep down, cares what his mother thinks about him."

"Sounds a little like profiling to me."

"Profiling is a complicated art form built on education. It's a deductive science."

"Oh, I'm not disputing the results. Again, merely the ethics of coercion."

He approached the ledge quickly, and just prior to reaching the cement fixture, Batman flipped off the retraction motor and swung his feet forward. He pumped downward and allowed his momentum to swing him under and then up over top of the ledge, where he landed gracefully on both feet. Another click and the arrowhead released itself and slipped back into the grappler, which was again magnetically clipped to Batman's belt.

"You spent several weeks in the cave doing nothing but profiling criminals when you were thirteen," Batman pointed out. "You never brought up this concern before."

"Yeah, because I was thirteen. I've matured since then."

Batman could hear the smile in Dick's voice. He was proud of his first mentee in a way that a father is proud of their firstborn. There had been others to take up his cause over the years, others that had dedicated their lives to justice. Some took more forceful approaches than others. But Dick had been the first and had easily set the standard. A standard which was coming under strain recently.

"Ethics aren't a luxury we can afford," said a new voice spoke over the communications link. This one was younger and more profound in his diction. "We are not common gumshoes trying to hash out a suspect. We are champions of this city, and are therefore above the normal regulations of the private citizenry."

"Gumshoes?" Dick muttered over the line. "Hash out?"

"He's been watching old Philip Marlowe films," Batman stated.

Twenty feet from where Batman stood, a cloaked teenager with dark hair and a green domino mask stepped out from behind an HVAC system. His cape was draped over his shoulder in much the same fashion as Batman's, but there were two key styling differences: the lining was yellow and a hood capped the top, which was down at the moment.

"Fine examples of your American cinema," the newcomer, the latest of Batman's protégés to wear the costume of Robin, stated plainly. Batman heard him both through the earpiece and from his close proximity. "A shame your country developed passed the 1950s. They had style back then."

"It's your country, too, kid," Dick said from where he sat back in the cave.

"Only by proxy."

Robin stepped closer to Batman, his father. Damien Wayne had come from what his mother had hoped to be a perfect union, that of the world's foremost deductive expert and the League of Assassins. One night of passion, drug-induced as it was, with Talia al Ghul had spawned the heir of the Wayne lineage, forever bonding Batman to the League.

As a result of being raised by the League, Damien was a natural killer with instincts that Batman tried to suppress. Typically the Robin role was meant to counterbalance the darkness of the Batman persona, but with Damien, both Bruce and Dick found themselves trying to control Damien's bloodthirst.

"Find anything?" Batman inquired as Robin approached.

"Only a few containers of venom." Robin stood next to his father, overlooking the city and allowing the wind to slip the folds of his cape off of his shoulders. Despite the height he looked perfectly at ease far above the cold streets. "Either the buyers were tipped off or they spotted me upon arrival. Obviously the latter couldn't be true."

"It's also possible that the containers were left in a dead drop location and will be picked up later," Batman countered.

"Which is why I drained them onto the warehouse floor and diluted the liquid with water and bleach." Robin stole a glance up at his father. "I'm not an idiot. Maybe the tip was bad."

"The tip was good," Dick responded via radio. "My contact heard it from his cellmate last week. The presence of the venom barrels proves that much. If I wasn't laid up in the cave with a busted ankle—"

"We know, Nightwing," Batman cut in. "We appreciate the ops support. I'm sure that Oracle is enjoying her night off."

"We still have to find whoever is moving venom through the city," Robin said. "With Bane out of commission, we have zero suspects and tonight didn't yield any usable results."

"I'll press my contact again," Dick replied. "Until then…hold on."

Batman's gaze stayed on the street below, but his posture shifted slightly in anticipation of having to move quickly. "What is it?" he asked.

"Maybe nothing. GCPD transponders show seven cruisers bunched together in the business district uptown. Looks like they're between Elmer and 27th."

"A blockade?" Robin asked.

"No. They're spread unevenly and not following any type of protocol I recognize."

"We'll check it out," Batman stated as he raised his arm, grappler already in hand.

A cloud briefly washed over the moon, blanketing the city in darkness for a mere second. When the cloud passed, the ledge where two of the city's defenders had stood only a heartbeat ago was vacant. Silently swinging through Gotham, Batman and Robin made their way uptown toward the business district.

Despite all of their training, their careful and precise movements, and their unique ability to remain invisible in the night, someone saw them. From a vantage point nearly a hundred yards away, a single person smiled as the vigilantes swept off into the evening. It had not been the right time to pull the trigger, even though they had both been under the unwavering watch of a scope. No, the time was not quite right.

But it soon would be.

* * *

"Push these idiots back!"

Detective Harvey Bullock hated one thing about Gotham: the costumed nutcases. Unfortunately, the city was flooded with them. To him every night was Halloween and it drove him crazy. He missed the good old days when the worst the city had to offer was the average murderers and rapists. Normal people doing terrible things, for sure, but still normal.

Crouched behind his Crown Vic, which he had skewed across the yellow line on Elmer Street to try and form some kind of makeshift vehicular barrier alongside the gathered cruisers, Bullock really wished he could transfer to another city.

"We're trying, detective," a patrolman named Skeers replied beside him. He was dressed in his uniform blues and his shield shone brightly from the street lamps. The kid was young, but Bullock had seen him around and knew he could handle himself. "They aren't being rationale, sir."

"Goddammit! I know they aren't rationale!" Bullock peaked over the hood of his car and the scene caused his grip to tighten around his service revolver. "Look at how they're dressed!"

Thirty individuals had been corralled between the cruisers and other responding vehicles, which were still arriving. The calls had started coming in only a few minutes ago, but this was Gotham, and when the authorities caught wind of any suspicious activity involving someone dressed as a clown, they took it seriously. When it was thirty clowns marching down the middle of town, they considered it a virtual epidemic. The result was every available unit, and even ones that had been involved in other matters, within a twenty block radius descended on the scene.

Thirty assorted men and women, all wearing purple, red, and green. The customary colors of one of the city's most notorious criminals.

"We can't just start shooting them, detective," Skeers said. "The riot squad is still five minutes out."

"We ain't got five minutes," Bullock shot back. "These fruitcakes are going to try charging us soon, I just know it."

They had appeared out of nowhere, like a flash mob of insanity, storming down the street and causing general havoc with no apparent target or destination. Thirty separate people, all of them laughing hysterically and sweeping over pedestrians with brutal efficiency, trampled their way toward downtown. The calls to the police had gone out immediately, but not before two people and a dog had been viciously butchered.

They carried knives, axes, huge hammers that would typically look comical, and other hand-held weaponry. Mailboxes, trash cans, storefront windows, parked cars, and newspaper dispensers were thrashed and decimated in their wake.

Individually they would pose a serious threat. Together they were a force of nature.

Bullock looked up just in time to see something descending toward him. He jumped on Skeers and used his substantial bulk to bowl the patrolman over, shoving him to safety. A glass bottle filled with gasoline shattered on the hood of his Crown Vic, instantly igniting from the lit rag sticking out of the neck. In a heartbeat his car was covered in liquid fire and he felt the scorching heat of the assault.

"That's it!" cried Bullock. He raised his revolver, ripping the hammer back with his thumb. "I ain't waiting! We have to take these clowns out before someone else gets killed."

"But the Commissioner said—"

"The Commish ain't here, is he, rookie? Now, get that shotgun up before…before…"

Skeers gripped his single-barrel shotgun tightly, saying, "What is it, sir?"

Bullock wasn't paying attention to Skeers any longer, or the chaos trapped behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen something move, something above the top of the nearby buildings. He hated the costumed nutcases that this city seemed to cultivate like bacteria. He had heard all of the excuses for why they seemed to crawl out of the woodwork, but he knew the truth.

They were here because of _him_.

"Crap," Bullock muttered and then turned to face Skeers, the look on his face dead serious. "Kid, you ever see the Bat in action?"

Skeers, who was already sitting upright, seemed to straighten his posture into precise regulation. "The Bat? No."

"Do yourself a favor and stay down. This is going to get intense."

Skeers opened his mouth, but didn't get a chance to ask the detective what was about to happen. Coming up in his own precinct, he had heard his fellow officers trade stories about encounters with the Batman. Most of them seemed too far-fetched to hold any truth in them. They seemed more like tall tales or urban myths.

After tonight, he wouldn't think that any longer.

A dark shade dropped in from nowhere, landing squarely in the central mass of the collective clowns. Despite the red and blue lights blanketing the scene from all sides, the headlights from the encircling cruisers, and the ambient light from the street lamps, Skeers could still barely make out any real detail about the figure that had dropped into the fray.

The clowns weren't sure what was happening at first, but the shade moved and one of them dropped. Then another. And another. Like lightning, the shadow moved between them, striking their knees, their temples, their throats. His cape masked his movements and he hit with such precision it was almost surgical.

When the clowns around the outskirts of the perimeter heard the fracas they quickly moved inward, like water to a drain. What was thirty was now two dozen, and the number was still dropping rapidly. None of them talked, issued orders, took control, or otherwise communicated. All of them, every single pseudo clown, did nothing but laugh uncontrollably as they fell in to try and kill this new target.

That's when a second shape dropped down from nowhere, this one a blur of red and yellow. As the central figure, presumably the Batman, worked to take down the clowns from the interior, this smaller but just as vicious figure took them down from the exterior.

Their numbers dropped to twenty and then ten. The pair worked in perfect tandem, slamming gloved knuckles and steel-toed boots into vital areas of the aggressors. The majority focused on the black wraith pummeling them from within and were thereby easy pickings for the younger predator at their backs.

Skeers stood up, aiming his shotgun, but Bullock put his hand on the barrel and forced it down. "Don't," the detective said. "You'll just piss him off."

Shocked, but heeding the senior officer's warning, he lowered the weapon and watched as amazingly, incredibly, only one clown was left standing. He squared off with the Batman and the red and yellow blur, now side by side. This had to be the legendary partner of the legendary manhunter, Robin. It could be no one else.

The last clown could barely contain his laughter, the giggles and guffaws slipping through his clenched lips. The vigilantes stared at him, unwavering as the clown tossed a machete between both hands.

Batman said something to him, but neither Skeers or Bullock could make it out. The clown didn't seem to be responding anyway, as instead of carrying on his side of the conversation, the purple-clad assailant leapt forward. The machete sliced down between the pair, missing them completely. Skeers thought he saw one of them move, but when the clown hit the pavement it looked like both Batman and Robin were completely still, their capes covering their torsos.

Thirty men and women in white face paint with green hair and smears of red around their lips, all of them down for the count. Bullock stepped into the makeshift arena, which Skeers took to be a sign that everything was now clear.

"You don't move, Bats!" Bullock shouted as he pointed an accusatory finger at the vigilantes. "You're completely surrounded, so no pulling your disappearing act this time."

"Sir—" Skeers started to say, but Bullock waved him off.

Bullock rubbed his hands together, apparently savoring the encounter. "Oh, this is bittersweet, for sure," the detective said. "The Commish ain't going to save your butt this time. No, no, no! I got you dead to rights, freakshow."

"Do you not think there are more pressing matters at the moment," Robin stated. While grammatically it should have been a question, coming from this serious-looking teenager it seemed more an accusation.

Bullock ticked off his fingers as he spoke. "Interfering with a police investigation. Reckless endangerment. Possession of a concealed weapon."

Skeers looked around at the floored perps around them, most of which they had to step over just to get close to Batman. "I think they did all this with just their hands, sir," he said.

"You know they got something hidden on these getups!" Bullock turned back to the duo. "What have you got to say for yourself? Huh?"

"These people were obviously drugged," Batman stated coldly. "Their pupils are dilated and all of their hands were shaking uncontrollably. They're pawns, detective."

"Yeah. Duh. Any idiot can see they were out of their minds. They're working for the Joker, obviously. Just look at what they're wearing."

"The Joker has been locked up in Arkham for the last six months," Batman countered. "I disabled his network of underlings personally. He has had absolutely no visitors and no communication with the outside world. Unless he had a time-delayed procedure in place prior to his incarceration, he's not behind what happened here tonight."

Bullock smirked and shook his head. "You'll say anything to make yourself sound more valuable, won't you? C'mon, Bats. You're under arrest. You have the right to remain—"

"Bullock!"

Bullock froze in place, recognizing the voice. He closed his eyes in irritation and turned to face the man who was pushing his way into the scene. Skeers stepped aside to reveal Commissioner James Gordon of the GCPD stomping toward them.

"Hey, Commish!" Bullock said with a forced smile. "Welcome to the party. I was just—"

"I know what you were doing, and I didn't authorize it. Get these men organized and start cuffing the real troublemakers before they wake up."

Bullock looked between the Commissioner and Batman twice before throwing his hands up in the air, relenting to his superior's orders. He grabbed Skeers by the shoulder and turned him forcibly around, saying, "Let's move, you mooks! You heard the Commish! Start slapping the bracelets on these freaks."

The Commissioner took a moment to coordinate the mass arrest, signaling to other officers to come forward to assist. Batman and his young partner waited silently in the center of the maelstrom, Robin obviously uncomfortable at being so exposed.

Finally, Gordon came over to them. He said, "You know I've warned you not to take on Bullock. He has it out for you."

"Tonight wasn't a random occurrence, Jim," Batman replied.

Gordon nodded. "Agreed. What's the next move?"

"The Joker isn't behind this, but he's obviously connected somehow. My first inclination is that this is a distraction of some kind; that we were drawn here on purpose."

"But a distraction for who? The GCPD or you?"

Robin made a note to discuss the perceptive deductions of Gordon with Batman later on. He had very little experience in working with the Commissioner, but he had quickly come to respect the leader of the GCPD. While Bullock immediately jumped to conclusions, Gordon had consciously opted to not do that and make an assumption based on the appearance of the assailants.

"A fine question," Batman replied. "One I'll be asking the Joker myself."

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED!**_


	2. Fools on Parade - Part Two

**BATMAN #2**

" **Fools On Parade – Part Two"**

 **Written D. Golightly**

"What do you hope to accomplish?" Robin asked.

As the doors to the maximum security wing of Arkham Asylum swung open, their hinges in desperate need of lubricant, Batman stepped forward with his son at his side. His cape draped over his shoulders like a shadow clinging to the last vestiges of nightfall. His presence here was not out of the ordinary, but seeing him stalk the halls always put the staff on edge. In a way, they were more anxious when he was here than when they had to transfer in one of the many homicidal maniacs they housed.

"Two things," Batman replied. "I want to know who the Fools were supposed to distract. Thirty men and women with no obvious connections were drugged, dressed in the Joker's colors, and let loose in the city tonight.* Nightwing confirmed most of their identities as the GCPD tagged them. They ranged from prominent doctors to cashiers. For now, the Joker is our only lead."

 _* [Last issue! Which means this current scene takes place only a few hours later.]_

"And with the Joker being incarcerated here since you last apprehended him," Robin added, "it seems unlikely that he is involved. That implies that the second item of your agenda tonight—"

"Is to confirm he didn't put this chaos into action before returning to Arkham."

"The Fools," Robin mused. "You have taken to calling them by the name the media provided mere moments after we broke up the mob."

The duo quickly made their way through the facility, passing many familiar characters. While Arkham was a renowned institution with a fairly substantial rehabilitative success rate, it also treated some of the most colorful criminals to grace Gotham. Batman could not take credit for filling all of the chambers in the facility, as physicians and psychiatrists from around the world sent patients there, but the need for a maximum security wing had come from his capturing dangerous people.

The glass doorways were Jeremiah Arkham's idea. He didn't want the room, which were actually similar to prison cells, to feel that way. He wanted his patients to be comfortable and be able to view their entire surroundings. It also allowed them to see the urban myth known as the Batman stalk nearby once more.

Several pounded on the glass. Many of them shrieked. To them, seeing Batman again was like reliving a nightmare made real.

Batman ignored them all, but Robin scowled at every single one that made a show of themselves. "You would think that given their reaction at the mere sight of you they would install two-way mirrors," Robin stated. "Or turn the lights off."

"I'm told seeing me helps them confront their own psychosis."

"Do you believe that?"

Batman didn't respond. He waited until they were two-thirds of the way through the corridor before he stopped, saying, "We're here."

The glass doorway to the chamber they stopped out was slightly different than the others. While not a prison, the majority of the patients were not allowed certain items for fear they would harm themselves or others. Most liquids, sharp objects, and fabrics were not allowed. Yet, somehow the glass here had been decorated.

A large red smile was haphazardly smeared across the middle of the glass, with green streamers somehow adhered to the interior near the top. Batman was only mildly surprised; after all, the Joker was known to be a gifted chemist.

Batman waited in front of the glass while Robin pounded on it with his fist. "Get up!" the teenager shouted. "You will come over where we can see you. Now."

From inside the chamber, a raspy voice said, "Today's youth… _tsk, tsk_."

Wearing an orange uniform that had been issued upon his return to the asylum, the Joker swung into view. He hung upside-down from the center of the room, his ankles tied to the embedded light fixture with the same green streamers at the top of the doorway. He had somehow opened and pulled the light out of its housing. A single bulb burned brightly, but as his weight shifted back and forth, it blinked on and off.

"Don't mind me, Batsy!" the Joker proclaimed. "Impersonation is the sincerest form of flattery, you know. I just thought I would get into that head of yours; see what it's like to be you. You have to tell me…how do you sleep like this with the blood rushing to your head? HA HA!"

"Thirty people were set loose in the city tonight showing similar symptoms to the effects of your gas."

Joker sneered and put the back of his hand against the side of his mouth, as if he were talking secretly. He stuck thumb on his other hand toward Robin and loudly whispered, "Gas? You're telling fart jokes now? In front of the kid? HEE HEE! Batsy, as one professional to another, I appreciate the new material, but let's keep it classy, okay? HA!"

"Quit joking!" Robin shouted as he hit the glass again. "People died tonight. Tell us what we want to know."

Joker stuck his tongue out at the teenager. "I liked the other ones better, Bats. They at least had a sense of humor." Joker swirled around as his momentum propelled him from side to side. He motioned toward the green streamers. "Like what I've done with the place? I made them from hair, bed sheets, hand soap, and a turnip. Of course, had I know you were coming I would have put out guest towels."

"You've been locked up here for the last six months," Batman stated. "I want to know if you've put something into play recently."

"Hmm. Let me think." Joker spun so his back was to the duo and he began loudly muttering to himself, saying, "There was that whoopee cushion I sent to the mayor. Oh, and the hyenas I donated to the Sunnydaze Day Care. Plus the—"

Robin pounded the glass again and the Joker spun back to face them. "Sorry!" he said. "Nothing comes to mind. Having a bit of trouble, eh? What's the matter…you miss me so much that you're trying to pin random things on me now? My doctor would say that you have a fixation with me, Batsy." He feigned blushing. "You make me feel so special. You know. In my special place. HEE HA HA HAAAAW!"

Batman turned to leave, which caused Joker to flip down onto his bare feet and slam himself against the glass. "Where are you going?" he demanded. His voice had dropped from a carefree playfulness to grievous.

"Thirty people were dressed like you and suffering from the effects of your toxin. If it wasn't you, then its someone impersonating you."

"Imperson…" Joker tried to smile, but he couldn't' quite bring the corners of his cheeks up to their usual height. "Batsy. Old friend! _Mi compadre_. Do a pal a favor and fill him in on what you're talking about? I love a fan, I truly do. I'd love for you to tell me who it is so I can congratulate them on their taste in idols."

"Like you said, impersonation is the sincerest form of flattery."

Joker's face suddenly turned sinister. His lips parted and seemed to barely contain his teeth and tongue, as if he would bite into the jugular of his prey if something wasn't impeding him. He pressed close to the glass, his fingers gnarled into fists. Gone was the jesting façade, now replaced by the cold and calculating killer that he was at his very core.

"Impersonation is for amateurs!" he screamed. He punched the glass desperately. "An insult to professionalism. To my craft. Tell me! I am an artist. A true genius! A Picasso of crime. Tell me so I can pull this neophyte's entrails out from this toenails and bathe in their family's blood."

Batman turned again and this time Robin followed. All the way to the end of the corridor they heard his demands to know what he had been talking about, who would dare take credit for his creative ingenuity, and the various ways he would dismember such a culprit.

The insane ramblings of a scorned killer.

When the doors to the maximum security wing had sealed behind them, Robin said, "That accomplished nothing."

Batman didn't break stride as he responded. "He candidly stated, 'had I known you were coming.' The Joker loves taking credit for his work. His ego won't allow him to share credit."

"He could have been lying."

"His violent reaction styling themselves after him also indicates that he had no prior knowledge of the attack. A vitals scan from my cowl, which registers his pupil dilation and heartbeat, alludes that he was telling the truth the entire time."

"Okay. But we still don't know who the distraction was meant for."

They exited the facility in silence. Damien Wayne had not held his father in the highest respect when they had first met, and he continued to challenge Batman's ethical behavior, which sometimes conflicted with the greater good he was led to believe they served. Since taking the Robin mantle for himself though, he had come to recognize the quiet brilliance that was in constant operation within his father. Every time he challenged the Bat he was foiled, coming away with a deeper appreciation of his tactics.

Their vehicle, the armored and one of a kind mobile operations center nicknamed the Batmobile, awaited them just outside the front gates. Its black polymer coating absorbed ambient light, making it nearly invisible in the shadows. At their approach, Batman tapped an ignition command on his belt and the engine roared to life. The turbines housed within the goliath growled and the cockpit canopy slid open to reveal two seats surrounding by computer screens and control terminals.

As Robin leapt across to the passenger seat, he said, "What's our next move?"

Batman similarly jumped in beside him and the canopy slid shut. He pressed the accelerator and the Batmobile jumped forward under the intense power of the turbines. "We find the real person behind tonight's attack," Batman replied. "We have to start by making an assumption, unfortunately. If this was a distraction for the police, we begin with where they would have been had they not been called to the scene."

"And if it was meant for us?"

The Batmobile thundered around a downward bend, leaving the monolithic Arkham Asylum behind them. The city was only a few miles away, but he was anxious to get back, anxious to start unraveling the mystery.

"We start with the Joker's known associates," Batman said. "The Joker is famous for being crazy. It's more likely that someone that respects him would pull this off as opposed to someone who would be too scared to cross him."

"And what if there really is an impersonator out there?" Robin asked. "What if there is a brand new Joker terrorizing Gotham?"

* * *

"I hereby call this meeting of the Board of Directors to order."

Slamming a wooden gavel down onto the circular conference table, the general chatter began to die down. The room was large enough to comfortably seat twenty executives, but only six men were present. They were uncomfortable sitting close to one another, as their alliance was superficial at best. At the head of the table, the man with the gavel leered at them.

Or so his body-language indicated. It was difficult to tell exactly who amongst them he was looking at since he had no eyes.

"You're not the Chairman," a man wearing a lead suit said. His voice was filtered through a speaker placed roughly where his mouth was behind the self-contained apparel. It was annoying to have to live this way, but necessary, lest he burn the entire building to the ground.

"Aren't I, Phosphorous? I might as well be. I'm the only one here with any type of medical background."

The man cut off from the world in his sealed suit let out a dismissive laugh. "Medical background? You bungled up and removed your own face. That hardly makes you a doctor."

"I was a leading dermatologist!"

"And look at you now, Doctor No-Face. Part of why I agreed to this was because I would be treated as an equal here," he said.

"And you will be," said the man seated directly across from him. He wore a brilliant red turban with a red gem at the center. In his hand he toyed with several silver coins that seemed have an aura about them. "You are equal to us. All six of us have come together for a common cause. There is no Chairman of this Board. The moment we begin bickering among ourselves is the moment this escapade fails. I have foreseen it."

Uneasy silence fell over the men. All six, master criminals in their own right, knew that this alliance was especially fragile. They were each accustomed to operating independently, but that had failed them multiple times over. This union was shaky at best, but it was their only chance at finally achieving success.

"How goes the preparations downstairs?" an Asian man near the corner of the room inquired. At his side rested a scimitar that could no longer hold its sheen, thanks to the amount of blood that had stained it. "I only arrived in Gotham tonight and need to be brought up to speed."

"The Hospital will be ready on schedule, Tzin," the man in the turban replied. "We have Ecks to thank for that. Or rather, Ecks' energy doubles. They're workhorses."

Ecks, a lean man with a pencil mustache, leaned forward over the conference table. "The Hospital will be completed precisely on time, as Doctor Zodiac said. My doubles are finalizing the testing phase as we speak." He leaned back, adjusting his necktie. "Ignore the screams. I'm afraid I can't do much about those."

"I doubt you'll hear any of us complain," said Doctor No-Face. "Gentlemen! Soon our joint efforts will culminate in the fruit of our labors. Gotham will cower before us. We have been rejected by society too long. After Batman is lead to—"

"No speeches." The voice came from the sixth member of their group who had yet to speak. When he spoke, he sounded like he was expelling all of the air in his lungs, which matched his ghastly mutated appearance. "Finish your work. The Batman has surely already begun tracking down the leads we have placed for him. Do not presume that _he_ will adhere to our so-called schedule."

While their own monikers fit them well enough, it was his that was the most appropriate. His skin looked discolored and chalky. His body was swelled and bloated disproportionately. His voice sent chills up even their collective spines. While doctors No-Face, Phosphorus, Zodiac, Tzin-Tzin, and Double X were formidable, even they feared this man. If Doctor Death could even be called a man.

Doctor No-Face scoffed, but picked up the gavel anyway and slammed it down again. "Very well. Meeting adjoined. When the Board next comes together, our **Hospital of Pain** will be completed, and nothing will stand in our way."

* * *

"According to Nightwing," Robin said, "who cross-referenced GCPD patrol assignments with reported crimes tonight, there are two locations that could have been the real targets."

Batman nodded as he deftly controlled the Batmobile, sweeping through the dark streets of Gotham. Robin worked the dashboard console in front of him that was tied to the main computer back at the cave. "They're at opposite ends of the district, though," Robin continued. "Several reports of vandalism throughout the area, likely caused by the Fools. One location reported a robbery and the other reported an assault, both at the same time as the riot."

"What does the assault report say?"

Robin took a moment to pull up the scanned witness statement. "Someone in a mask attacked a man and woman walking home from dinner. The assailant broke both of the man's legs and one of the woman's ribs. He was seen fleeing the scene using what the witness called, 'a grappling gun like in those movies.'"

"We'll head for the robbery location. The assault doesn't rate the kind of planning that the riot required."

"We should not allow the assault to go unanswered," Robin countered.

Batman gave him the briefest of glances. "Of course not. Put Batgirl on it. It's unrelated to our case. We have our own investigation to follow through on."

Robin grumbled, but seemed content to pass on the information to their female counterpart. He hadn't worked directly with Batgirl very much, but he respected her abilities and had no doubt that his father was correct in assigning her the assault. If he had time, Robin made a mental note to offer her assistance should she need it later.

The concept of this extended family was growing on him. In the League of Assassins he delegated work to underlings fairly consistently. This seemed no different, although he father regularly told him that their family of operatives in Gotham were not employees and should be treated as equals.

The Batmobile blazed through an intersection that was devoid of life. At this time of night, even the denizens of Gotham's underworld were preparing for daylight. Soon enough Batman and his protégé would need to think about returning to the cave as well.

The brakes silently engaged and brought the massive vehicle to a halt before a storefront. The sign overhead read, 'BAILEY'S JEWELRY.' What was left of the windows lay strewn across the sidewalk. Glass crunched beneath the boots of the duo as they left the Batmobile behind and stood at the now empty scene.

Batman paused at the window for a moment, looking up to where the storefront ended and the red brick of the upper layers of the building began. A row house, many of the top floors were either rented apartments, storage for the businesses, or homes for the owners.

"Hm," he muttered.

Robin stopped beside him. "What is it?" he asked, looking upward.

"The security gates were down when the glass was shattered." Robin followed his gaze, noticing that prongs of metal were hanging like teeth from the top of the storefront marquee. They had all been broken apart and bent outward. Batman continued, "And the glass is on the outside. If someone were breaking in—"

"The glass would be on the inside," Robin surmised. He bent down and looked more closely at the debris on the sidewalk. "Look. This isn't all glass."

Picking up several shards of something black and jagged, Robin closely inspected the fragments rolling around in the palm of his glove. The lenses in his domino mask adjusted at his command, zooming in to give him a magnified look.

"It's metal," Batman concluded.

"And it's wet, oddly enough. So, someone burst out from within. This wasn't a breaking and entering like the police report indicated, and these shards are the fragments of the security gates that were lowered over the outside of the glass windows. But what would make metal shatter like glass?"

"It would have to be brittle," Batman stated. "If would have to be frozen."

A click barely above a whisper triggered both of them into action. A bystander may not pay any more attention to such a noise than they would a bird flying overhead, but to the trained ears of the Batman and his young partner it was all the forewarning they needed.

The duo split apart like opposing magnets just as a turquoise beam of searing energy splashed onto the sidewalk. The ground was instantly covered in a thick layer of ice, which was growing more dense by the second as it expanded and reached toward the storefront.

Batman spun around, a curved throwing implement in his hand, dubbed a batarang. Seeing his target across the street behind a car, a mere forty feet away, he snapped his arm forward and launched the weapon. It swung out in an arc and connected with temple of the man who had tried to kill them.

He fell down behind the car, but they had gotten good look at him before he had fallen out of sight. He wore a blue coat with a white and blue hood that looked too bulky for his shape, as if he wore padding or armor beneath it. His hands were covered in thick, black gloves. Clattering to the ground beside him was the weapon that had fired a deadly cryogenic ray at the duo, a familiar weapon to the Dark Knight.

But what was even more familiar was the dome covering the man's head, like a glass helmet. It was reminiscent of one of his signature adversaries.

"Freeze!" Robin said between clenched teeth. He had likewise thrown himself aside and had a pair of red batarangs at the ready, eager for another target.

"No," Batman said. "It's not Victor Fries. There's something wrong with—Robin! Down!"

The teenage protégé did as he was ordered, folding his body up and tumbling forward, supposedly out of harm's way. As he did so, another blast of frigid energy bathed the lamppost he had taken cover behind, dousing it in expanded ice. He popped back up, found his mark, and flung a pair of his own batarangs, one from each hand.

True to his mentor, they hit their intended target: another figure wearing a blue coat with hood covering a glass helmet. The first 'rang hit his weapon, another handheld freeze ray, and the second smashed his nose in, causing it to spit out blood.

"More! On the rooftops!" Robin shouted.

Batman looked skyward, spending a single precious second to take stock of their surroundings. He would chide himself later for allowing them to step into such a situation; he should have scouted the area first. Instead he had made the assumption that the scene of the crime would be vacant hours after the act.

They had allowed themselves to become surrounded by the men in the blue coats, each one brandishing a cryogenic weapon. He counted seven of them before seeking cover. As he slipped into the jewelry store he realized that it hadn't been the police who were targeted for distraction; it was him.

Someone had set loose thirty people dressed like the Joker to get his attention, and now that same person had outfitted ten other people like another member of his rogue's gallery, Mister Freeze. But why?

Blasts of artic current rained down on the street and sidewalk, striking the Batmobile and the storefront. He both saw and heard Robin lashing out, but would no longer be able to help his son. Just as he regained his composure and was ready to put a plan of offense into action, the jewelry was sealed off completely by twin cryogenic assaults. Within a few scant heartbeats the storefront was completely covered in a wall of thick ice.

Batman instantly started tapping commands into his wrist-mounted control panel. The Batmobile was only a dozen feet away, parked directly in front of the store. All he had to do was enter the right prompts and any number of weapons within the vehicle could shatter the wall and get him back into the fight.

But the sound of a gun being cocked behind him gave him pause.

"I have to say, Batman," a voice that was dripping with false happiness said, "I didn't believe them when they said it would be this easy."

Batman relaxed his arms, allowing them to drop to his side. Of course there would still be someone inside; the glass had blown outward and they had lain in wait for him to arrive outside. They had left a man behind. And he recognized the voice of that man.

"Lawton," the Dark Knight said as he slowly turned.

The red and silver armor of a familiar figure stepped into view from the back of the ransacked store. His face was completely hidden behind a silver mask that bore a burning red lens over one eye. His left arm was extended, pointing at Batman, and leveling a compact machine gun that was strapped to his forearm.

A mercenary, he had worked both sides of the fence by doing jobs for Checkmate and Task Force X, otherwise known as the Suicide Squad. He had killed prominent people on four continents in over a dozen major cities. He was reported to be an expert marksman and a skilled combatant. Floyd Lawton was known to a select circle of contacts as Deadshot.

"When I was hired for this I honestly had my doubts," Deadshot continued. "You're the Batman after all. Surely you would have smelled this trap a mile away. But here you are."

"Who hired you?"

"Ha! You know better than to ask me that," Deadshot countered. "Unless of course…you're going to pay me more than them?"

Batman remained silent, allowing Deadshot to step closer. His cape had slipped over his shoulders and shrouded his chest and arms, allowing him to collect the item he planned that he would need from his belt without Deadshot seeing him move.

"I had you in my sights a few hours ago," Deadshot lamented. "The brat, too. But I don't have orders to kill you tonight. Otherwise I would have gladly put one right between the ears."

"Why the distractions?" Batman asked, hoping to keep Deadshot talking.

"You mean those idiots they drugged and dressed up like the clown? Our friends outside, who you just know Freeze is going to be upset with once he finds out, are drugged, too. Not with the same stuff, mind you. They're much more lucid. Need to be. Have to kill your little bird out there, and you have to aim straight to do that. No room for him in their plan. But they are getting your attention, aren't they?"

Batman's eyes narrowed. "One last time. Who hired you?"

"Don't insult me."

He could still hear the various energy discharges from outside, indicating that Robin was still alive and that the ice-snipers were having a hard time trying to keep him grounded. He trusted his son. He trusted his training and his ability to stay alive. For now, he could keep focus on the danger directly in front of him.

Good for him. Bad for Lawton.

"Okay," Batman replied. "Let's negotiate."

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED!**_


	3. Fools on Parade - Part Three

**BATMAN #3**

" **Fools On Parade – Part Three"**

 **Written D. Golightly**

The air condensed around Robin, and combined with a sudden drop in temperature, alerted him that someone behind him had targeted him yet again with another icy blast. Victor Fries was a genius in the field of cryogenics, but his technology had been bastardized, mostly by himself after his transformation. Several tubes of ice streaked the cityscape, reaching from the rooftops down to the street outside of Bailey's Jewelry, the scene that Robin and his father had freshly arrived at mere moments ago.

His instincts, honed via the League of Assassins and the Dark Knight himself, overtook him completely. The young Robin, barely shrouded by his black cape with a yellow lining, threw his body to the side, rolled, and sought cover behind a blue mailbox.

He had counted ten assailants before Batman had vanished into the jewelry store and then been cut off by a wall of ice he estimated to be three feet thick. Just like the drugged and deluded Gotham citizens that had been unleashed on the city wearing the Joker's motif, whom the media had dubbed the Fools, it seemed like someone had also outfitted these ten with Mr. Freeze's signature weapon. When Robin could get a glimpse of the flash-freezing snipers, he saw calm and calculated operatives lining up their targets with focus. It meant that if these had been drugged like the Fools they were fairly lucid.

He spotted the only Freeze impersonator that had been on the ground about two dozen feet away, lying unconscious beneath a blue coat and hood. All of them wore the same outfit, making it impossible to distinguish one from another. That left nine to deal with, all of them with the higher ground, and he was temporarily on his own.

A sizzle of ice, a flash of blue, and another streak of cobalt energy had nearly taken his head off. Robin swept around the side of the mailbox to shield himself from yet another angle. Robin glanced at the wall of ice sealing off the storefront, and his father with it. He ground his teeth, palmed two batarangs, and spun out from behind the mailbox to deal with the situation.

# # # # #

"Bats, you can't afford me," Deadshot replied.

The barrel of the assassin's wrist-mounted compact machine gun was firmly aimed at Batman's head. Floyd Lawton had made a name for himself as a man that never missed, but Batman had proven that assumption to be wrong on several occasions. Their paths had crossed more than once, and each time both had come away scarred. For as many sociopaths that Batman had faced in his crime fighting career, he knew that there was one key difference in Lawton's character that set him apart from most others. He was an opportunist.

"Then why haven't you pulled the trigger?" Batman shot back.

"Well," Deadshot said with a small pause, "I didn't say I wouldn't entertain any offers."

In their short conversation Batman had already learned several key pieces of information, which was likely offered subconsciously. Deadshot's use of pronouns, referring to whoever hired him and drugged the Fools as "they," meant that a group was targeting Batman. He had let slip that there was no room for Robin in their plan, meaning that the group in question had researched their methods and had a very specific path for him to follow, which in turn implied that he was expected to act a certain way.

Most importantly, the very first thing that Deadshot had said to him that night, casually stating that he hadn't believed his employers when "they said it would be this easy," strongly implied that there was an agenda at work.

"You said that you didn't have orders to kill me tonight," Batman said.

"I don't. I'm supposed to contain you while the imitation Freezes kill your little bird out there."

"And then what? What's the next step in this twisted game?"

"Oh, it is a game, Batman. You have no idea. But, like I said…I'm willing to step aside if the price is right."

Deadshot was a well-known gun for hire, but his fee wasn't cheap. Aside from government work, there weren't a lot of organizations that would hire him. Local operations like Rupert Thorne and Penguin, who had been busted down by Batman to strictly small time, really couldn't afford to bring him into their schemes any longer. There was even a rumor among Batman's informants that he had stopped taking calls from the small fish. The assassin had graduated from wetwork to entrepreneur.

However, if Deadshot had been placed here as part of a larger agenda and Batman was being led somewhere, it was unlikely that he really could be bought off. The Fools, the Freezes, and now Deadshot…the fact that this had been so well planned in advance alluded to the fact that most contingencies had been considered already.

"I can pay you with something more valuable than money," Batman said. "Information."

Deadshot laughed. "Batman, I seriously doubt that you know anyth—"

"Eddie is alive."

The muzzle attached to Deadshot's wrist wavered slightly. The blood red iris that had long ago served as the assassin's window to the world remained fixed on Batman, perhaps even more strongly than before. After a moment, he replied, "I should kill you just for saying his name, let alone lying to me about him."

Whoever was behind the events that had led Batman to this very moment had obviously done their homework, but what they had failed to consider was that Batman would know the impossible. Batman rigorously delved into his opponents' backgrounds, and with Lawton's known death wish, he was easily one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Therefore, Batman considered him a unique threat and would make sure that Oracle was always looking for an angle to get an edge in their favor.

Floyd Lawton had idolized his brother Eddie, but in an amateur attempt to murder their father, Floyd had missed his mark and killed Eddie instead. It was a catalyst event that had driven Floyd to never miss again, and in turn had psychologically molded him into Deadshot.

"I'm not lying, Lawton," Batman stated. "I'll make you a trade; turn in your employers in exchange for your brother's whereabouts."

Batman's cape parted slightly as he raised his left arm, and then his right hand to begin tapping commands into his wrist-mounted holographic display that, via Wayne Enterprises satellite, was connected to the massive Cray computers in the batcave. A wire frame image of Eddie Lawton's face was displayed hovering an inch over Batman's extended wrist.

"Your tricks aren't going to—"

"No tricks," Batman cut in. The wire frame face switched to streaming data and scrolling text began sliding upward in front of Batman's face. "Edward Lawton, resuscitated in the morgue after a medical examiner noticed brain activity. Severe frontal lobe damage due to extreme oxygen deprivation and trauma from a gunshot wound."

Deadshot noticeably winced. The gun that had caused the wound had been his own.

"Responsive to physical therapy," Batman continued. "Definitive language barriers, but he has been breathing completely on his own for the last two years. Considering his condition, his prognosis is rather good. I could go on. Or I could delete this information."

"You're a cold bastard. And that's coming from me."

"What's it going to be, Lawton? Are you so loyal to your employers that you wouldn't consider getting the one thing back that has been driving you mad all these years: your own brother?"

Deadshot hesitated, but then lowered his weapon. "They call themselves the Board of Directors," he finally said. "Six of them. They have an elaborate plan to put you off your guard, starting with those clown idiots downtown last night and now the Freeze impersonators outside."

"These Directors," Batman said. "Who are they?"

# # # # #

"Hands…off!"

Her fist slammed into the teeth of the last man standing, knocking two of them loose. She had already broken his nose and blood was gushing out like a stream. She had taken a few cuts and bruises herself, but nothing compared to the pain she had dished out on the three thugs sent to bring her back to her cell.

After all, Selina Kyle, AKA the master thief Catwoman, had been through a hell of a lot worse.

He slumped to the grimy floor and she stepped over him with her bare feet, intent on escaping. She didn't know where she was, but it looked like some kind of rundown hospital. They had come for her last night, barely twenty-four hours ago, and she had foolishly let her guard down. Drugged, she had woken up in a tiny cage meant for Rottweilers, but had fought off the effects of the chemicals enough to get her senses back. Two swift kicks was all it had taken to burst out of the flimsy cage.

They had taken her whip, of course, and her claws, her mask, and her boots. She was left wearing dirty hospital scrubs for some reason and they had shaved her black hair. None of this made sense. None of it at all.

She trotted down the corridor and kicked open the dual swinging hospital doors. The only light filling the hallways was what could poke through the boarded up windows. She wondered how long this place had been abandoned, and couldn't help but smirk when she thought of all the "abandoned" locations throughout Gotham that had served as a haven for people like her.

Catwoman had used her fair share of such buildings before, either for hideouts or as places to lay stash the trinkets she had stolen.

Another thug happened around a corner just as she did, but she reacted much faster. Her cat-like reflexes had been honed to perfection and the muscled guard didn't even register her striking him.

She pounced up as soon as she saw him, driving her foot into his jaw. The satisfying crack marked his head spinning to one side, and she plowed her shoulder into his abdomen to knock him down. She leapt on top of him, straddling him on the floor, and slammed her fist into his face three more times until he stopped struggling. Then she hit him again, hard, just to make sure.

Selina sprung back up, not wanting to waste any more time. Even though she was fleeing, she was still on the defensive. She simply had no understanding of who had grabbed her or why. She had to get out.

An elevator bank was at the end of the corridor, but the buttons didn't react when she reached them. Swearing quietly, she was about to slip into the stairwell when she heard footsteps behind her.

"I'm impressed," a man said, and she turned to see someone wearing purple robes steadily walk toward her. He was bald and had a fu-manchu goatee, and his eyes gave her a look into a sinister soul. "Of course, I don't know why I would have expected those imbeciles to detain you. I told Doctor Double X to send his duplicates, but he gave me some hogwash about energy conservation. So, I thought I would attend to you myself."

"Who the hell are you?" Selina demanded as she fell into a fighting stance. She was pissed off enough that his answer didn't actually matter; she just wanted to knock him down and get to safety.

He bowed and said, "Doctor Tzin-Tzin, an orchestrator of your eventual death." Then, with a flourish, he slid out a scimitar from within the folds of his robes, brandishing it with obvious expertise. "But not before the Bat arrives."

"Batman? This is about _him_?"

"You're the bait in our little bat-trap," a new voice behind her said. She spun to see another man wearing a bulky gray suit that seemed to encapsulate his entire body, except for an opaque glass shield over his face. "So, why don't you be a good little kitty and go back in your cage?"

Something ignited within the gray suit and the glass shield became a window. Fire curled up from within the sealed suit and Selina witnessed in horror as the newcomer's face was revealed to be a blazing skull, devoid of skin or muscle, but somehow still animated.

She felt stupid, allowing them to flank her like this. She was still dazed from whatever they had drugged her with, weak and careless. She put her back to the wall and tried to watch both of them, flitting her head back and forth.

"I'll handle this, Doctor Phosphorus," Tzin-Tzin said, his voice failing to hide drips of disdain. "We can be more tactful than burning her alive, yes?"

"You're the one that thought she would be out until morning," Phosphorus shot back. "Better to just burn off her nerve endings, or maybe melt the tissue off of her feet. She won't be doing much running then."

"Selina!" Tzin-Tzin shouted, drawing her gaze back to him, and when she did so, she was enthralled by his movements.

Tzin-Tzin, a master of hypnotic movement, was deftly spinning his sword in a specific pattern. He muttered as he spoke, and while the words reached her ears, Selina was no longer comprehending their meaning. She locked onto Tzin-Tzin's eyes, lost in the evil she saw there, and her peripheral vision was blurred out by the swirling motion of his scimitar.

Her eyes grew heavier and she felt herself starting to slide down the wall she had her back to. Then everything went dark.

Her last thought was that she had to fight, had to get out, had to warn Batman.

# # # # #

Deadshot scoffed. "The Directors? Well, they all have grudges with you, isn't that obvious? Of course, who doesn't in this city. I never saw any of them directly, but I'm to make sure you leave the kid behind and go to the next checkpoint." He kicked a carpet out of the way that was just in front of the rear exit and against the wall, revealing a cellar door. "Down there."

"Where am I being led to?"

"Some building they've been tailoring for your arrival on Locust and Conway."

"Uptown."

Deadshot nodded. "Now, give me what you promised me."

Batman rattled off a public FTP site. "Check it in one hour. Everything I've collected on your brother will be uploaded by then. You should be aware that he won't be happy to see you."

"As often as I've had you in my crosshairs, I've never felt that our paths were really meant to cross, Batman. It's just business, after all. But tonight." Deadshot took in a deep breath through his silver mask. "Tonight you made this personal. You've been holding onto this information, I know it. You've kept him from me. Next time there won't be a bargaining chip to keep you alive."

And with that, the assassin turned and walked passed the shattered jewelry counter, into the back room, and through the rear exit. It was one of the rare occasions that Deadshot had turned his back not just on a mark, but on a contract.

As soon as he was gone, Batman tapped the side of his cowl, activating his ear piece communicator. "Did you get all that, Nigthwing?" he asked.

"Copy that," the former Boy Wonder replied electronically. "Locust and Conway…looks like some derelict building, a former hospital. Been out of operation for decades. I'll send you the schematics. Want me to send someone in advance or call Gordon?"

"Negative. I'll collect Robin and continue on down the rabbit hole, if only to ensure that any other traps are cleared along the way. I can't let someone else stumble on them by accident."

"Fair enough," Nightwing said. "You know, my busted leg is feeling a lot better, so I could—"

"No, I need you in the cave. Make sure you upload the medical records for Deadshot next."

"On it. How long have you had that intel?"

"Almost a year. I've been funding a grant to keep his brother alive."

Nightwing whistled. "No one plays the long game like the Dark Knight."

"Is Robin almost finished cleaning up outside?"

"Well… _finished_ isn't exactly the right word."

# # # # #

"Remarkable devices," Robin stated as he considered the freeze ray gun in his grip. He ran his gloved fingers down the smooth metal casing and looked down into the barrel. Content, he pointed it back at the drugged citizen and pulled the trigger.

Cobalt blue waves slashed out of the nozzle, coating the legs of the man that had been trying his best to kill him a few minutes ago. He was barely conscious, having taken a batarang to the head, but his eyes were fluttering. His legs became covered in thick ice that was expanding as Robin held the trigger down.

The ice around his body joined in with the mound beside him, inside of which were several other people dressed exactly like him. For a normal teenage kid it would have been a deadly situation to be in, but for Robin, it had been a mere warm-up for what was to come.

He allowed the ice to expand up to the man's chin, and then satisfied, he finally released the trigger. He had gathered up the snow snipers, as he had come to think of them, dragged their unconscious bodies onto one roof, and decided that icing them up would be better than wasting bat-ropes on these ridiculous assailants.

He smashed the ray gun over his knee and let the pieces clatter to the rooftop. "Nightwing," he said, tapping the side of his mask. "Where is Batman? He's taking too long to get out. Does he need assistance?"

"Relax, kid," Nightwing replied. "He was just doing a little negotiating. He'll…oh, here he is now. You might want to duck."

Robin raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but instead of heeding the warning, he stepped to the edge of the roof. The Batmobile, docile since they had arrived on the scene, suddenly sprung to life. The headlights flipped on and a side-mounted turret slid out from an armored compartment, pointing directly at the iced-over storefront. A small _chunk!_ sounded as an explosive charge punched into the ice wall.

 _Ka-DOOM!_

The ice wall was ripped apart, with shards flying in every direction, even reaching the roof where Robin stood. He winced and yanked his cape up to keep the shards from hitting his face, but the shockwave forced him to take a step back.

After a moment, when the minimal smoke cleared, Batman stepped out from within the jewelry store, surveying the scene calmly. He traced the frozen diagonals of ice streaming from the rooftops to the street up to where Robin stood watching him. Realizing that the scene was indeed clear, he nodded at his young apprentice.

In reaction, Robin yanked his grappler off of his belt, fired a line into the lamp post at the corner adjacent to the building, and swung down to Batman's level. Within a second of landing just a few feet from his mentor he was calm and collected once more.

"You sure took your time in there," Robin chided.

"It looks like you had things under control out here," Batman replied. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, father. What's our next move?"

Batman re-entered the decimated jewelry store and said, "There are a lot of wheels in motion here. A group has formed to target me and unleashed an elaborate plan to get me into a specific position, without your support. They want me isolated."

"Why?"

"Grudges, apparently. It doesn't matter. Whoever they are, they're risking lives in my city. We'll put them down. Hard." He toed open the cellar door that Deadshot had indicated. "The trail leads here."

"And we're just going to follow it blindly?" Robin said. "We should take tactical advantage. They assume that I won't be backing you up. I could scout ahead, or take that Thomas child and—"

"Child?" Nightwing cut in over their ear buds. "He's five years older than you. But I actually agree with Robin. I could have Duke out there to meet Robin in less than an hour. They could move into a better support position."

"No," Batman stated bluntly. "Whoever we're up against, they've gone to great lengths to research our team and our tactics. That means there is a chance that they'll anticipate bringing in addition help. We follow their trail, obliterate whatever is lying in wait, and bring them all down before someone gets killed."

Without waiting for additional comment, Batman slipped into the cellar entryway and disappeared into the darkness of the basement. Robin held back in a moment of rebellion, but ultimately he knew that his father was right, and joined him.

"This is a bad idea," Nightwing muttered, just as something jammed the link and they were forced into radio silence.

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED!**_

EPILOGUE

"Welcome back, Doctor Seltsam!"

He greeted the armed guard and briefly exchanged pleasantries. As a visiting psychiatrist to Arkham Asylum he was always under intense scrutiny, but he had passed all of their little tests and been granted entrance to continue what they thought was research for his master thesis.

Stalking down the hallway, passing the cells containing some of the world's most deadly men and women marked as "criminally insane," he had even added a slight limp to his gait. Anything to throw them off from his true identity.

Finally reaching his destination, Doctor Seltsam unfolded a cheap metal chair and placed it directly in front of the reinforced plexiglass cell wall. The sole occupant ignored him completely, instead focusing on the drips coming out of the sink.

"I thought we might begin today by discussing what compels you," Doctor Seltsam said. "Would that be alright?"

The patient said nothing. He didn't even blink.

"Hmm. Perhaps we need to dig a little deeper into that psyche of yours, yes? Let me just get my notebook…"

He dug into his brown satchel, which had been thoroughly searched at two separate security stations, and removed a thin and tattered padfolio. He flipped it open, grabbed a pen from his breast pocket, and began to scribble.

"When did you first feel the urge to murder another person?" he asked.

The patient continued to ignore him, which was to be expected, but the doctor continued to scribble furiously, as if the patient had said something remarkable. He clipped the top of the pen three times, and after the third click, stood.

The EMP generator hidden within the pen would disable the security cameras within a twenty yard radius, but only for the next sixty seconds. So far things were moving according to plan, but he had to move quickly.

He pressed his palms against the glass and said loudly and clearly, "Applesauce. Banana cream. Fruit loops."

The patient's eyelids suddenly jerked open. He swayed slightly and then pressed his palms against his temples. He groaned, but then the groan changed into something else. Something terrible.

He began to laugh.

The Joker sprung off of his cot and slammed against the plexiglass, startling the visiting psychiatrist. "Hugo, ol' boy!" he said. "I was beginning to think you would never wake me up! Is it time? My lord, suppressing myself like that was exhausting! Not that I knew it…hee hee!"

Doctor Seltsam straightened his jacket and glasses. "I take it that you were not able to recall any information about our plans?"

"Nope, not an inkling. Your mental suppression therapy worked like a charm. I didn't even know what Bat-for-brains was going on about when he stopped by! What a doofus. Of course, now that you've uttered the trigger words, I remember everything. So…is it time?"

Seltsam nodded and checked his watch. "The Batman is moving into position as we speak, and therefore I will engage the next phase. But first… Yogurt. Carousal. Peanut brittle."

The Joker's lip curled and his head jerked to one side. His face continued to contort for another second while Seltsam sat back in his chair, again scribbling furiously as if he were desperate to keep up with what his patient was saying.

"And why do you think that is?" Seltsam said as if nothing had happened.

The Joker, looking confused, noticed Seltsam as if for the first time. "The only thing I think," Joker said, "is that your head would look just marvelous mounted on a pike."

Seltsam continued to take notes about nothing as the Joker went back to ignoring him again. He had to keep up appearances, for both the Joker and the watching guards. After all, if they knew who he really was the ruse would be over, and Hugo Strange would be locked away right alongside the other patients.


	4. Fools on Parade - Part Four

**BATMAN #4**

" **Fools On Parade – Part Four"**

 **Written D. Golightly**

The air beneath the jewelry store was stale and darkness crowded in. Having secured the drugged snipers that had been dressed like Mr. Freeze outside, Batman and Robin were now willingly taking the next step in a twisted game that an unknown group had set up for them.* As soon as they had entered the cellar beneath the jewelry store, a second steal door had slid shut over their heads, sealing them off in the underground corridor.

 _* [Last issue, plus Batman faced down Deadshot!]_

Robin spun, batarang in hand, ready to strike out in case a trap had just been sprung. "Do we use our acetylene torches to reopen the hatch?" the youth asked of his father and mentor.

"No," Batman replied. "A waste of time. We move forward. We need to follow whatever path they've set for me. We can't risk someone else stumbling onto whatever this elaborate deathtrap is." He paused as he glanced at his wrist-mounted display. "Comms are out. We're cut off from the Cave. They must be jamming all frequencies."

Robin licked his lips and sheathed the batarang back on his utility belt. He had come to trust Nightwing, who was acting as overseer in place of Oracle for the time being, but he still put more trust in whoever was active in the field with him as opposed to tactical support. Batman had chided him several times over ignoring advice from Oracle as a result.

Now that they were forcibly cut off with communicating with Nightwing or anyone else, Robin was already feeling the gap in their methodology.

"Night vision on," Batman stated as he tapped his facemask.

Robin obliged and the black world beneath Gotham City suddenly turned green. All ambient light was augmented so that everything through the lenses of his mask looked eerie and sharpened.

Batman began walking forward, stalking into the umbra with Robin staying close behind. His mind was compiling all of the available information, trying to decipher how it was all linked. He knew from Deadshot that a group had targeted him, apparently due to past grudges, implying that he had put them down before. The coordination of the Joker- and Freeze-themed patsies, hiring Deadshot, and guiding them through this elaborate trap implied that they were well financed, well connected, and well organized.

None of the groups he had gone up against before matched the _modus operandi_ of the past 24 hours. The League of Assassins wouldn't be so embellished in their implementation. Kobra would similarly rely on their own prodigious soldiers instead of relying on someone like Deadshot. The Court of Owls also had their own assassins and would never perform such theatrics.

No, this reeked of the same madness that one of the colorful villains of Gotham was known for. However, he knew it was a group targeting him, which meant he could rule out several likely suspects. The Mad Hatter and the Riddler worked alone. The Penguin might be desperate enough these days to combine his talents with someone else, but who? His own ego would likely have diffused his own efforts when planning all of this.

His rogue's gallery craved attention. Each of them loved signing their work and challenging him to catch them. So far no one had been the obvious choice for who was behind this, no calling card, and given that they had such a grievance against him to go to these lengths, their anonymity concerned him.

The cellar had quickly fed into a freshly carved tunnel in the bedrock of Gotham, which in turn led the pair of vigilantes into the sewer system. After several hundred yards of silently moving through the darkness, they could no longer mask their footsteps due to the trickle of water moving at their feet.

"The manhole covers are all sealed off, too," Robin commented as they continued on. "How much preparation did this take?"

"We're being led somewhere specific," Batman replied. "According to Deadshot, an old hospital that's been out of commission for years uptown."

"And you trust his information?"

"For what I offered him, yes."

Robin scoffed. "We can't believe that someone like him would just willingly give up his employers. What did you offer him?"

"A chance for redemption."

The sewer tunnel led to a spillway, a collection chamber that kept the water levels from rising too high in case of flash flooding. Like the manhole covers, all of the other tunnels feeding into the chamber had been sealed off, except for one. The end of their tunnel dropped off into the spillway, leaving them no other access to the obvious path except to swing across.

Batman extracted his grappler from his utility belt, aimed at the brick ceiling, and fired. The tip jettisoned out, stabbing into the red brick and mortar, pulling the line taut. He yanked back to test the line, and then swung out into the open air to cover the gap.

"Batman!" Robin shouted, but the warning was too late.

As soon as the Dark Knight had reached the apex of his swing, a bulky form launched itself out of the tunnel that had been his destination. Through the green night vision in his lenses, Robin saw a scaled body wrap itself around Batman, dislodge him from his line, and plunge him straight down into the water below.

Robin watched them entangle and then submerge completely. The water must have been several feet deep to hide them entirely. Water violently churned at the base of the spillway as Batman fought for his life against the thing that had attached him.

Then Batman breached the surface, his right arm wrapped around the neck of the creature as it thrashed back and force to try and throw him off, but Batman had his grip held fast with his other hand, pulling his forearm across the thing's throat. Robin saw clearly now the scales, the tail, and the taut muscles of a truly deadly foe.

"Croc!" the teen muttered through mashed teeth. He debated whether or not he should leap down to help his mentor, but the creature that looked like Killer Croc started to slow as it lost air due to Batman's choking grip.

Finally, the fighting ground to a halt as Croc went limp and Batman released him. The Dark Knight was breathing heavily, but still looked tense. Robin realized that something was still wrong, even though the obvious threat had ended.

Just as he was about to call down, the water swirled again in several places around Batman, and two more crocodile men rose up from the sewer water to flank the vigilante. Robin realized that like the Joker parade and the Freeze snipers, this was yet another contingent of assailants doctored to look like Batman's deadly foes.

Possibly the deadliest yet.

# # # # #

"Batman? Are you there?"

Nightwing ripped off his headset and slapped it down onto the console of one of the world's foremost piece of investigative technology. From the Batcave he was plugged into dozens of government agencies, databases, and even satellite feeds. Several high profile cases had been solved from this very seat, but right now it was all worthless to him.

"Lost them!" the former Boy Wonder said under his breath. He was already frustrated enough with his busted leg keeping him out of the field. Now he couldn't even provide operational support. "Damn!"

"Something wrong, Master Dick?"

Nightwing turned to see Alfred Pennyworth, aged yet noble butler to Bruce Wayne, approach with a tray holding milk and cookies. Dick Grayson frowned, but accepted the refreshments.

"You know that I'm in my twenties now, right?" Nightwing inquired as he bit into one of the chocolate chip cookies.

"And yet you still wear your underwear on the outside of your clothes," Alfred deadpanned. He looked at the various screens that surrounded Nightwing like a womb. "Some trouble with Masters Bruce and Damian?"

"Not sure yet," Nightwing said as cookie crumbs dribbled from his mouth. He washed the mouthful away with a swig of cold milk. "I lost communication with them just a few minutes ago. They went underground, literally, so I don't even have CCTV to patch into and get a visual."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. After years of service to several generations of vigilantes, plus a few spent in the trenches himself, he had seen it all. From backbreaking to young wards with chips on their shoulders, he had experienced just as much trauma as the rest of them. "Should we be concerned?" he asked.

"Well, I know where they're headed." He pointed to one screen that displayed a top-down view of a section of uptown Gotham. "Some derelict hospital. I was thinking about sending Duke to scout ahead, but Bruce said that he wasn't ready to call in the reinforcements just yet."

Alfred leaned in to look at the picture more closely. "Hmm. Is that…oh, my word! It can't be!"

Nightwing jerked up in his seat. "What is it?"

"It must be a coincidence! It just must be!"

"What?" Nightwing demanded, turning in his seat to face Alfred directly.

"That hospital," Alfred stated, "is where Master Bruce's father used to work! He sat on the board, perfected his skills there, and had several medical breakthroughs, all resulting from those facilities. That hospital is special to the Wayne family, Master Dick. Several of the Wayne Foundation's outreach programs began there. Doctor Leslie Thompkins even had a practice there just before the hospital lost funding and closed down."

"Does Bruce know that?"

Alfred shook his head. "The hospital was foreclosed on a year before Master Bruce's birth. It sadly fell into ruin. His mother formed plans to restore funding and reopen the hospital, much to his father's delight, but then…"

"They were killed." Nightwing leaned in himself to look at the screen, seeing the old hospital in a new light. "Do you think there could be a connection between Bruce's parents and what's going on tonight?"

Before Alfred could respond, an alarm went off. Several screens on the console flashed and new windows overlapped the monitoring and research ones that Nightwing already had open. It was a priority alert and seeing it made Nightwing's heart skip a beat.

"Oh, dear," Alfred said with a whisper.

In the very center of the largest screen, a bold flashing message had appeared that read, "ARKHAM – BREACH."

# # # # #

For a long moment, there was no sound except the wet inhaling and exhaling of the three scaled beasts and wet trickling into the spillway. Then, with no preamble, all hell broke loose.

The one of Batman's right lunged for his throat, his jaws wrenching up as a roar bellowed up from within. Batman ducked under his head, stabbed his elbow into his abdomen, and tried to hip-throw the monster into the other two.

But he couldn't, because his left leg was suddenly exploding in pain, as the claws of another croc slashed into his muscle, nearly reaching the bone. The croc on his right smashed into him awkwardly, his head no longer a target, and the three of them crashed into a pile in the water.

Batman quickly found himself in a death-grip from one of the monsters and the air was being forced out of his lungs quickly. Soon his lungs would feel like they were on fire and he would instinctively try and take in a breath, but he was submerged, his face pressing up against the first unconscious croc that was now under the water. His mind knew he couldn't do it breath in, but before long his basic needs would override his cognitive thoughts.

Something thumped on top of them and the croc's group loosened. He took advantage of the newfound leverage, shoving himself up in the nearly three feet of water, gasping in precious air as he did so.

The croc was flung, no _pulled_ off of him, and he saw a flash of red and yellow out of the corner of his eye. Robin had leapt down into the chamber, landing on the croc suffocating him, and yanked him away.

A roar and a slash brought Batman's full attention back to directly in front of him. The second croc was still very much unrestricted and now able to come at him without the other impeding an attack. It slashed, growled, and did its best to tear into him. Batman deftly slipped out of reach, his back pressed against the rounded brick wall of the flood chamber, and snatched something from his utility belt.

The croc came at him again and Batman ground his teeth and rushed to meet him. He ducked under the massive and muscled swinging arm of the monster and jabbed two prongs into the thing's chest. He flipped a switched and electricity danced over the croc's scaled skin, threatening to fry him.

After a sizzling second, Batman released the trigger on the Taser and let the croc drop into the water to join its brother, also unconscious. He focused on Robin, who had shoved a batarang into his croc's open maw, but was succumbing to the ferocity and weight advantage of his foe.

Batman covered the distance between them, drove his fist into the croc's side, kicked out his knee to force him to kneel, and then slipped a pink capsule into his open mouth. The creature gasped as pink smoke began to pour out of its mouth, and it reached for its throat just as it too fell back into the water, no longer a threat.

Robin, breathing heavily, looked up at his mentor and asked, "Carbon dioxide?"

"Mixed with a little bismuth," Batman replied, his breath also labored. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," the youth said matter-of-factly. He looked at Batman's torn leg, which was covered in wet, red blood. "You're not."

Batman glanced at the wound and reached for his grappler. "I'll take care of it later. We need to—"

"A moment," Robin said with a raised hand to silence his father.

He pulled out a fat syringe from one of his pouches, pressed the plastic tip into the wound, and pushed the plunger. A thick gel filled the wound, sealing off the blood flow. Next he used surgical staples to make sure that the abrasion would remain closed, stabbing three metal brackets directly into Batman's leg.

Despite what had to be intense pain, Batman smirked. "You've taken up Alfred on his offer to teach you field medicine," he said.

"Swallow these," Robin said, ignoring the remark. "Antibiotics, although who knows what kind of things are crawling around in this place. You'll need something stronger when we get back to the Cave." He glanced at the three unconscious mutated men. "They're running out of rogues to emulate."

"We're not far," Batman said as swallowed the pills dry and then he fired another line up to the sole exit tunnel. The line held and Robin followed suit, and together the vigilantes entered the next phase of the twisted game.

The dank tunnel led them uninterrupted through the underbelly of Gotham. Several cases had brought the Dark Knight into these sewers before as he had tracked gun runners, kidnappers, and even mercenaries throughout the extensive system. This was the first time, however, that he had been led so directly by his prey.

After trudging through a foot of water over the course of several blocks, they finally arrived at a dead end. The interconnecting hatches and feeding pipes were all sealed off, save for small trickles of water, leading them to this one location. Storm drains continued to allow air into the tunnel, but nothing else, and they were much too small for an exit.

The only avenue left to them was directly overhead: a single hatch with a wheel lock that had already been turned for them. All they had to do was reach up and swing it open.

Batman checked his GPS, but it was still being jammed, as well as all efforts to communicate with the above world. His leg was throbbing and Robin looked a little winded. Whoever was behind this had successfully worn them down and isolated them.

"Even though you weren't meant to follow," Batman said, "we can still assume that they know you're with me. They've been too careful, too well coordinated to not have been monitoring us coming down the tunnel. They want me alive, though, for whatever reason. They could have easily rigged the spillway with explosives. We can reason that whatever is up there will be designed to incapacitate, not kill, but we still need to be prepared for any situation."

Robin ground his teeth and said, "I'm ready."

Batman nodded and then slipped his fingers around the hatch wheel and yanked it down, revealing a pinprick of light from above. Inside the vertical tunnel was a wall-mounted ladder, and they began to climb. A few feet into their ascent, they switched off their night vision since the light was getting brighter.

At the top of the ladder, Batman forced open a door and quickly sprung out, instinctively falling into a crouch and allowing his cape to conceal where his hands were. Robin did likewise, facing the opposite direction, as they had done in so many training exercises before.

Stainless steel doors, about three feet across and two feet high each, lined two of the four walls, all hanging on thick, metal hinges. There was a single bulb illuminating the room overhead, but even in the minimal light it was easy to tell where they had entered the building.

"A morgue," Robin said matter-of-factly. "I thought you said they didn't want you dead."

The room was cold, as was its nature given the typical occupants, but the air was also stale and carried a feeling of emptiness to it. Batman cautiously took in the room, seeing a single exit through double, swinging hospital doors.

Stainless steel examination tables filled the center of the room, with a crash cart in the corner that had long ago been stripped of any useful equipment. The morgue looked derelict, but someone had obviously been there recently as a brand new LCD fifty inch television had been mounted on the far wall.

The TV switched on, and Batman ground his teeth as a face came into focus. "Is this thing on?" a squeaky voice said through the television's speakers. "Testing, testing, one-two-three!"

"Joker…" Batman muttered.

The Joker's pale face and red lips filled the screen. It was a very tight shot of just him, so close that the vigilantes could make out the contours and skin wrinkles from his constant grin. Batman actually heard Robin go tense and couldn't blame him in the slightest.

"Batsy?" Joker asked, pressing his mouth onto the camera lens. "Are you there, or are you at home, washing your tights? HA!"

"I'm going to beat that smile off of your face, clown," Robin stated.

"It's a recording," Batman replied. "Look at the time code in the corner. He made this video months ago."

Joker cleared his throat very loudly and the view finally pulled back to reveal the Joker, standing within his cell at Arkham Asylum and wearing his orange jumpsuit that had been issued after being committed. It looked exactly the same as when Batman had last seen it, merely 24 hours ago.

"Surprised?" Joker asked. "You should be. I've spent a hell of a lot of time planning this, and a hell of a lot of money. Granted, I _stole_ the money, but it's hard work stealing it in the first place, and I hate to let it go.

"So! Here we are. Or rather, here you are. How have you enjoyed my little friends popping up all over Gotham, dressed like some of our mutual acquaintances, hmm? You know, Batsy…we've clashed so many times that I've really been struggling with how to actually, you know, _kill_ you. You're like a bad zit – always popping up on prom night! HEE HEE!

"That's when it struck me! I've fallen into a bad pattern. So have all of us, but Nigma is the worst. His tailor knows his stuff, though. HEEEeeee! ahem We're always leaving you clues. Calling cards. I realized that if I actually wanted to see your body dismembered before retirement age that I needed to change things up a bit! Thus began the greatest performance of this humble comedian's life.

"I recruited some men who very much hate you, minor annoyances really, but oh, they are _so_ passionate. I persuaded them to restore this lovely hospital so that they could inflict their own personal therapy on you, Batsy. They are so enthusiastic to torture you! I really admire that about them, even if they are b-listers.

"But how to get you here? You remember those flash mobs that were so trendy years ago? What better way to get your attention than to drug John Q. Public and dress him up like your favorite baddies? With so many running around, all outfitted like myself (personal fave, Bee-Tee-Dubs), Freeze, and a couple others, you couldn't help yourself. And now here you stand, exactly where I wanted you.

"With the trap set, I needed to protect it from myself. I know that you know that I know I just can't help myself. The doctors have a few names for it, all having to do with identity disorders or some drivel, but it boils down to just wanting credit. After all, I can't have Cobblepot or one of those other buffoons trying to steal the spotlight!

"As soon as those handsome Jokers went rampaging through Gotham, your first stop would be to see me. You're sooooo predictable, Batsy. Could I save me from myself? Would I spill the beans? You had taken the bait, but the real trap hadn't been sprung yet.

"So, I enlisted another friend of ours to hypnotize me and block out this entire month of planning. I let him scramble my brains, even though I prefer my brains over easy. I won't remember any of this, Batman, so when you come to see me… _and you will_ …you won't be getting any help from me! HA HA HAAAAAA!"

The Joker was clutching his sides due to laughing so hard. Batman, who was so frustrated from having been cornered, was about to advise Robin as to their next steps, but before he could speak, a nearly silent hissing sound caught his attention. "Gas!" Batman warned, but it was too late. The gas must have been filling the room during Joker's diatribe. His vision was already doubling and Robin was starting to sway.

Batman fell to his knees, struggling to stay up, but was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate.

"I had you fools parading all over Gotham! Ha Ha HAAA!"

His vision was blurred and darkness was creeping in at the sides. He felt nauseous and between bouts of intense laughter he heard Robin stumble to the floor.

The last thing he saw was the Joker's manic face, once more cropped in close to fill the screen, with tears rolling down his white cheeks. He was laughing so uncontrollably that he looked like he might be having a heart attack, were it not for widened grin that had come to haunt Batman's dreams.

And then everything went black.

 _TO BE CONTINUED IN THE "HOSPITAL OF PAIN!"_


	5. Hospital of Pain - Part One

**BATMAN #5**

" **Hospital of Pain – Part One"**

 **Written D. Golightly**

He was running. Running through the night, with nothing by the cloak of midnight around him. He was comfortable here, alone in the dark, experiencing the city as few people could. It was eerie how silent Gotham was at night. One expected to find all sorts of creatures wondering about, but tonight it was only him and the moonlight.

He leapt across the alleyway with deft precision, tumbling forward and off into a sprint again. He enjoyed the pure serenity of the night, how the darkness was almost pure in its simplicity.

But then something pierced the shroud like a knife, stabbing his ears and wrecking his concentration. It was faint at first, but then the volume increased and he was forced to cover his ears to keep from passing out.

What was it? Some kind of animal? No. Human.

It was laughter. Someone's laugh was exploding throughout the city. He knew who it was, but didn't want to admit it. He would recognize that laugh anywhere.

The moonlight was swallowed up by two ruby red lips, which in turn curled into a smile like they had just eaten a gourmet morsel. The night began to lift, no not night, fog, and it pulled back to reveal a towering clown.

He ground his teeth, desperate but not wanting to yield. But the shrieking laughter was overwhelming him, destroying him, killing him.

"Don't get too close, No-Face!"

On the first floor of the derelict hospital, a man with smooth skin over his facial features looked over his shoulder at his temporarily partner, which was bizarre given that he had no eyes to see with. He wore a drab overcoat and reeked of booze. Had he a face to contort, he might look irritated.

"I don't take orders from you, Zodiac," Doctor No-Face retorted with obvious contempt in his voice. "You just focus on keeping him under your control."

Doctor Zodiac curled his upper lip into a sneer, wishing that he could be rid of his juvenile accomplice who couldn't even last an hour without a drink. And how did he actually imbibe the cocktails he adored without a mouth? The thought puzzled him, but he pushed it aside to concentrate.

The fearsome Batman had been reduced to some base creature under his control, thanks to the special coins he had liberated from Atlantis years ago. Once a common peddler at the circus, he was now to be feared as Doctor Zodiac, despite what minor defeats he had suffered before.

In fact, it was those very defeats that bound him with his newfound colleagues. With the Board of Directors in this macabre hospital, Zodiac had been joined with several other villains of rather deplorable fame, such as No-Face. They had been promised the man who had humiliated them and kept them from rising to top of criminal society…and that promise had been delivered on.

The Dark Knight himself, strapped to a gurney in a desolate surgical suite, struggled against his bonds. The Joker had actually done it, he had led Batman on a useless parade around Gotham City, directing him to come straight to them. As impossible as it had seemed at first, the six of them had actually set aside their differences and refurbished the hospital to their own ends.

Now Batman was at their mercy, held at bay by the power of Doctor Zodiac, and his meddlesome partner removed to another wing of the hospital.

"He _is_ under my complete control," Zodiac spat back. "I'm insulted that you think he could defy my power."

The silent power pulsed from the Atlantean coin pressed into Doctor Zodiac's red headwrap. He was now so much more than a clever con-artist. He was already a master of deception, and with the coin's power, he could now deceive all of Batman's senses, effectively holding him incapacitated. What good would his deductive prowess be now that Zodiac had rendered it inert?

"We should use my device to remove his mask," No-Face said. "How paranoid do you have to be to boobytrap your own mask? I bet that would finally reveal his true face…and then I could remove that as well! HA!"

Zodiac sneered at his partner. He had yet to find the value in No-Face, who as far as he could tell, did not actually possess a doctorate. Despite the money he had funneled into their renovations, and the anonymous henchmen to guard them, he provided no real active value. Now that Batman was here, they would be better off without No-Face.

"You told me your device was destroyed years ago," Zodiac replied. "Can you rebuild it? The identity of the Batman would be a valuable treasure."

No-Face hesitated. "I have my top men working on its redevelopment," he stated. He turned back to the captive Batman, saying, "And when it's ready, Batman, I'll wipe your smug features away for good!"

"You will do no such thing," a sharp voice said as another man entered the room. "The Batman will run through my gauntlet as promised! We will humiliate him as he has humiliated us."

Zodiac looked over his shoulder to see another of his accomplices stepped toward them. Dressed in his purple robes, the forceful Doctor Tzin-Tzin was arguably the more capable of their lot. His own organization, once widespread, was now in tatters thanks to Batman's meddling. While Zodiac detested working directly with them all, he regrettably appreciated Tzin's involvement, as he had been the one to break the coin's spirit for Zodiac. Without his help, Zodiac would still be trying to manipulate the coin.

"Yes, yes," No-Face said with a wave of his hand. "But Batman's identity is likely his most prized possession. Why else would he wear a mask? We can run him through our floors as decided, but when he is utterly broken, reveal his true face to world! It's brilliant."

"Ah, I see," Tzin replied. He twisted his fingers through his long whiskers. "Perhaps there is promise for you yet, No-Face. But until then, don't get any delusions about your role here. You will not deprive the rest of us of our revenge to satiate your dark desires. Ready your precious device and bring it before the rest of the Board, but do it quickly. We are nearly ready."

"The brat is contained then?" Zodiac asked.

"Yes," Tzin answered. "I came to assist with the transfer of our…guest." He sneered. "The boy has been placed with our other captive, to be used as bait, just as she was intended to be used. An added bonus! Now, allow me to strengthen the coin so we can move the Batman without trouble."

Zodiac nodded his approval, despite the fact that he would rather run Tzin through with his own sword than accept aid from him again. But he could not argue that Tzin's mysticism had bent the coin already. Their alliance was useful for their mutual goals.

Doctor Tzin-Tzin stood behind Doctor Zodiac, chanting something in an ancient language. He steadied his palms on either side of Zodiac's headwrap and Zodiac felt the pulses emanating from the coin change slightly. In response, Batman's eyes went wide and he seemed to choke back some new fear that was overwhelming him.

"It is done," Tzin stated. "He will not be able to shake free of your control while we move him to the first floor."

"Why does Phosphorus get to be the first to go?" No-Face blurted out. "By rights, I should—"

"Silence!" Tzin shouted, and he ripped his claw-like nails across No-Face's blank features. Three deep scratches were torn into the flesh, shocking Zodiac and No-Face alike.

"My…my face!" No-Face shouted. He reached his gloved hands up to streak the blood across his skin. "What did you do to me?"

"Your whining is only tolerable so much! You will have your chance, just as the rest of us will. Be glad that your position on the Board has not been terminated because of your childishness. Call your men to carry our foe, and if you so much as speak again I will do more than just mark you."

No-Face took a step back, as if to avoid more of Tzin's wrath. After a pregnant moment, he stepped from the room to call in his henchmen, others that he had made look like him. As the awkward silence continued on, the men carried the struggling but weakened and confused Batman away.

Finally, Doctor Zodiac said, "What is your endgame, Tzin?"

"The same as yours, Zodiac," he replied. "The same as yours."

If she had her claws this would have all been over by now.

Selina Kyle, running on pure hatred alone, wanted to growl as she watched her bizarre jailers take up their posts at the entrance to the small examination room that now doubled as a prison. These men, this eclectic collection of macabre criminals, had retrofitted an old hospital to suit their purposes. She didn't fully understand what was happening, other than she was intended to be the lure in their trap.

Which had apparently worked, because her captors had just deposited one half of the dynamic duo into an adjoining cell. The thick steel bars had been welded together to form basic cages, and now two out of the three were filled. As she looked at the rousing Robin she wondered if her captors had plans for who would fill the third cage.

"Where is he?" she asked once the youth had stirred enough to try and sit up.

He ignored her, instead taking in his muddled surroundings. He was having trouble focusing after being gassed as soon as he and his mentor had entered this horrid place. It had been a trial just getting there, having faced down people dressed up to look like various rogues.*

 _* [Batman #1-4]_

He eventually stumbled up onto his feet, using the bars for support. He had been stripped of his belt and it looked like they had tried to tear his cape away, but the fabric was too difficult for them to work off of him. The Kevlar-weave was nothing if not resilient. His mask, attached by something far more effective than spirit gum, was also still in place.

"Boy!" Selina called out again. "Pull it together! Where. Is. He?"

Robin half turned to face her, finally recognizing her. He blinked several times, still trying to clear away the fog. He said, "Precisely where he…wants to be, cat."

She glanced at the doorway where two of the half-faded men stood. She had seen several goons throughout her short venture toward freedom, seemingly from different masters. She had taken down several run-of-the-mill thugs, but she had also seen a few with blank skin where facial features should be, as well as the two that guarded them now.

They looked exactly like one another, not just twins, but like they were actually the same person. Given some of the things Selina Kyle had seen in her life as the nefarious Catwoman, this didn't seem too unusual. What was odd, however, was that she had seen these duplicates split off from the apparent source, their jailer, Doctor Double X.

She recalled seeing the name in the papers years ago, but only because it stood out as being so old-school-ridiculous. He, and his doubles, were all dressed in garish purple tights. The only difference between them was that the doubles looked a little…fuzzy, for lack of a better word. They were solid enough, though, as evident by them manhandling her back into her cage, and now by depositing Robin nearby.

The Tzin character, Double X, a few others…where the hell was she stuck this time? She knew that they were after Batman, and now his little sidekick was incarcerated with her. She hated playing the damsel in distress, but that seemed to be her role in this whole scheme.

But if Robin seemed to think that Batman was where he needed to be, would be it better for her to just sit and wait to be rescued?

Hardly.

She slammed the bars with her bare foot, rattling the cage. "Hey!" she called out.

"Quiet-" one said, immediately followed by the other saying, "-down."

"I need to use the bathroom."

"Go in-"

"-the corner," they replied.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? But I don't think so. Get your boss in here. See what he thinks about that."

"He isn't-"

"-our boss. He's-"

"-part of us. You're not-"

"-getting out again."

She pursed her lips and pushed her tongue into her check, pressing her breasts against the bars. She slowly took in a deep breath to expand her ribcage. In the wild kingdom, such non-verbal behavior would surely get the attention of a mate, if not several. Her more feral side wasn't beneath using her femininity to get what she needed. In fact, she had lost count of the times that men had allowed themselves to get into bad situations simply because they couldn't help themselves from admiring her assets.

"Then how about we pass the time. One of you come in here," she purred. "Or both. It doesn't much matter."

The twin Doctor Double X's looked at each other, then back at Selina again. Their faces remained stoic and passive.

"We doubt that-"

"-you could handle-"

"-us. We likely have-"

"-more _group_ experience than-"

"-you."

A sound rippled from the bottom of her throat, something between pleasure and ecstasy. "Well, I'm willing to learn if you're willing to teach me," she replied.

The twins looked at each other again briefly before a soft _pang!_ caught their attention. They both turned to Robin's cage, but it was already too late. A metal bar smashed into one's face, and then a spinning leg caught the other's knees, dropping them both to the floor. A flash of red and black was on top of them.

Two more quick strikes followed and the doubles faded away entirely, leaving Robin by himself on the cold tile floor. The doubles were dispelled.

"Any longer and I thought I was going to have to strip," Selina blurted out as she bounced on her toes eagerly. "I'm glad to see that your mentor taught you the subtleties of distraction."

Robin stood, tossing away the two-foot bar he had sliced out of his own cage. "The acetylene torch in my glove would have cut through faster, but I was trying to be as quiet as possible."

"Be as loud as you want while you cut me free. We need to get to Batman, fast."

"Agreed on the second point, but not the first." Robin turned to leave.

"What?" Selina looked shocked. "You can't be serious."

"If those doubles were linked to their creator as they implied," Robin responded as he looked around the corridor beyond the now open doorway to take in his surroundings, "then he'll be on his way with reinforcements. I need to move and you'll just slow me down."

She slapped the bars. "You little runt! Let me out of here. Now!"

Robin looked directly at her and said, "He might have a soft spot for you, cat, but I don't. There are two warrants currently out for your arrest. I'll be back to collect you when this is over."

The youth vanished down the hall and the doors flapped shut behind him, leaving Selina once again alone. She was about to scream in cold fury, but caught sight of something that might actually prove useful: the cut bar had rolled close enough to her cage for her to reach.

She scooped it up and jammed it between two of the cars of her own cage, twisting it. With her full weight behind it and her not inconsiderable strength, one of the bars actually bent slightly. She released the bar, relaxing the strain and collecting her breath again. She was petite so the bars wouldn't have to budge all that much, but this was going to take some work.

She applied herself again, thinking about what she was going to do to that little bird when she got out of here for motivation.

Batman awoke with a gasp, feeling something sharp remove from his neck. It was hard to focus on anything, but the darkness was starting to creep away. He saw something thin and gray…a needle? Had someone injected him with something?

The world spun. He blinked several times, trying to push away the stinging sadness that had swept over his mind. It was like he had been stuck in a nightmare for years and was just now realizing that reality wasn't what he thought it had been.

He had felt the effects of the Scarecrow's fear gas before, and had even built up a resistance to it, but this was different. Similarly, he had trained his mind to recognize when the Mad Hatter was playing with his brain chemistry, but again, this was something else.

This was more focused. Instead of an atmosphere of anxiety being woven into his perceptions, this was more like the world around him had been altered. He had been completely incapacitated and felt ashamed for it.

But now his captors had seen fit to lift the veil for him and he took in this new arena with grim awareness.

"Sometimes I wonder," a raspy voice on the far end of the rectangular room said. "I wonder what it would be like to be normal. To have a family. To go out into the world and not have to worry about people like you, Batman."

Batman's instincts started to take over. He bent his knees slightly and kept his chest taut, ready to move when needed. He had quickly assessed that he had been brought to the burn ward of this retrofitted hospital. This particular room in the ward looked like a recovery room of some sort. He recognized the voice instantly and knew that whatever this insane challenge was, it was starting off as deadly.

"I've told you before, Doctor Sartorius," Batman replied. He found that his own voice was harsh; dry and scratchy from having been out of it for so long. "I can help you. There are places you could go that—"

"That would treat me as the freak that I am! And don't call me Sartorius! I left that name behind me years ago when you and the people that were jealous of me made me what I am today. Now I'm Doctor Phosphorus, and you'll burn, Batman!"

Batman had been brought in at one end of the recovery room with Phosphorus at the other, with a dozen empty bed frames between them. The curtains that had provided a modicum of privacy for the recovering burn victims were now tattered or gone altogether, leaving the ward to look like a hollow version of its former self.

Much like Phosphorus, once a man with ambition to become successful and revered, who was now just another criminal with a vendetta. Batman had locked him away several times, just as a few other heroes had done. He was dangerous, not just because of his sheer power, but due to his mental instability.

Phosphorus' skin erupted in white flame that covered his entire body. Batman noticeably felt the temperature in the room increase, and it was getting hotter by the second. Phosphorus could generate radiation potent enough to melt steel, but beyond that just being close to him could be deadly. His skin emitted toxic fumes and even just short term exposure could result in serious medical complications.

"You would love to have them plug me back in at Arkham, wouldn't you, Batman?" Phosphorus shouted as he took a few steps closer. Molten footprints were left in his wake, baked into the floor. "I'm beyond help. No one can turn me back to normal, so I have to embrace who I am. And who I am is your killer, Batman."

"End this now and I'll get you the care that you need, Sartorius."

"I told you not to call me that!" Phosphorus slapped at one of the beds, overturning it and causing it to burst into flames just from touching it. "And you have no idea what you we have planned for you, Batman! I'm just the first gatekeeper."

He was still woozy from Zodiac's meddling and was having trouble just focusing on Phosphorus. Or maybe it was the sudden intense heat filling up the room since the villain's eruption. He felt sluggish. Weak. Vulnerable.

"Feeling the burn?" Phosphorus asked with a raspy laugh. "Look around you, Batman. Every room in this hospital has been redesigned with the sole purpose of tormenting you in very special ways."

Batman glanced around the room, making sure not to take his eyes off of Phosphorus, but sweat was just pouring down the inside of his mask. He was having trouble breathing. His costume felt like it had doubled in weight.

The walls. Something about the walls wasn't right. What was it? He couldn't concentrate. He quickly checked his wrist-top display for a temperature read and it was already a staggering 150 degrees Fahrenheit and climbing.

"We installed copper sheets all throughout the room, Batman," Phosphorus said. "Copper is the number one conductor of heat. Did you know that? You'll start feeling the effects of severe dehydration in the next sixty seconds. But the shot of adrenaline we gave you won't allow you to pass out. You're going to be awake for every torturous second."

His knees went weak and he stumbled down onto one of them. His head was pounding and dizziness had been added to his menagerie of symptoms. He had already run rampant around Gotham, chasing after what amounted to a trail of bread crumbs. He was tired, worn out, and now he could literally feel the energy being sucked from his body.

"I'm going to sweat every last drop of life out of you, Batman!" Phosphorus shouted. He kicked another aged bed, causing the metal frame to twist like putty. "Then I'm going to give you third degree burns all over our body. I'll melt that costume to your skin. And then? Hehe…then you get to move on to your next torture room. Oh, what wonders we have in store for you, Batman. When we're done with you, there won't be a place on the planet that you'll feel safe!"

Batman leaned forward, steadying himself with one hand on the floor, trying to open up his airway, trying to breath, but the air was just so hot it was like breathing through a volcano, and the room was spinning, sweat filled his eyes, his muscles were burning, and how could he have let himself walk into this mess, because Robin was here and was he alive and he couldn't know but had to try but wouldn't realize and time was out but he couldn't stop so dig deep but notanymoreemptyitwasoverhefailedandnowtheend

"You keep tabs on all of your so-called important enemies, don't you, Batman? But not us. We weren't worthy of your notice. You humiliated us and left us to rot. Now we've come back. I'll bet you would take us a little more seriously now, wouldn't you, Batman?"

Colors blurred. The copper walls all looked the same. Except there. What was that? The entire room hadn't been plated. Just most of it. There was one section that had plaques up on the wall. They were the same color. Who cares? He couldn't focus. But something caught his eye. What? Why?

Phosphorus was only a dozen feet away now and it felt like he was kneeling before the sun. The wall. The big plaque in the center. It said something. What? Did it matter? He had to get away. But his memory was fighting to get through the heat to tell him something important.

He blinked and tried to see one last thing before his eyelids were swollen shut.

The plaque. It was a dedication. The script was too small to see, but his mind's eye had captured it and was trying to get him to look again.

In the center, the script was larger. Easier to read.

"Are you hallucinating yet, Batman?"

It was a name. Whose? He had to get away.

"Are you broken yet?"

A name, yes. Someone important.

"Are you giving up, Batman?"

A name…WAYNE.

Doctor Thomas Wayne.

"Can you even hear me anymore, Batman? HAHAHAAA!"

Seeing the name of his father snapped Batman out of the last traces of Zodiac's influence. His mind focused back into a razor-sharp and calculating tool for survival. The heat was sweltering, deadly, but nothing he couldn't handle. With his mind alert again and he knew exactly how to deal with Phosphorus.

He slipped his cape over his face and tapped his wrist-top panel. The cape went rigid and emitted menthone glycerol ketal, a cooling agent, that instantly reduced the temperature in his immediate area. He heard Phosphorous take a step back, likely in surprise.

His muscles were still tight from the heat exposure and stress, but the cooling agent was doing its work. He snapped two capsules off of his utility belt and flung them at Phosphorus' feet. They exploded upon coming into contact with him, releasing extinguishing foam that hardened around his legs, immobilizing him.

Phosphorus screamed and his white-hot skin erupted all over again in refreshed radiation. He smacked at the foam and managed to tear off a large chunk of it, but it was never intended to hold him indefinitely anyway. It was more of a distraction, which allowed Batman a few precious seconds to get back onto his feet.

He threw a haymaker at Phosphorus' chin, connecting, but the fire transferred onto his Kevlar glove. He smothered the flames with his cape and the cooling agent, but his knuckles were still scorched. Two more strikes and Phosphorus was down, his flames extinguished. Batman's hands felt like they were still on fire even after he put them out for a second time.

In fact, most of his body felt like it had been sunburned. His mouth and chin were the worst, having direct skin exposure to Phosphorus' radiation. It would be weeks of ointment applications before the burns were healed. But it was over. He had barely pulled himself together. The combination of the adrenaline shot and the shock of seeing his own father's name in a place like this had snapped him out of the mental scrambling, saving his life.

He turned to look at the plaque more closely. It read:

'In recognition of philanthropic endeavors,

this ward is dedicated to

DR. THOMAS WAYNE

in grateful appreciation

for devotion to the people of

Gotham City.'

There were other plaques on the wall, too, recognizing or memorializing various donors and doctors that had made significant contributions to the hospital. Phosphorus hadn't bothered to recover this wall with copper plating because the plaques were already copper, and there were so many that they had served just as well in conducting heat as the full sheets.

A door slid open at the far end of the room. It remained open, beckoning him. This was not the last challenge. More deadly traps undoubtedly awaited him, and Robin was still unaccounted for. He took a step forward over Phosphorus' prone body and his nerve endings erupted in pain. It felt like he had been deep fried and still left under a heating lamp.

Every step was agony, but he trudged forward, determined to find his son and end this insanity.

 _NEXT: The mental machinations of Doctor Zodiac!_


	6. Hospital of Pain - Part Two

The Bat stumbled over his threshold. The rest of the hospital had been built mostly to their benefactor's specifications, but this room, this very special room, was designed for Doctor Zodiac's unique talents.

A few wisps of smoke still clung to Batman like stray thoughts. He was limping, too, but whether or not was from Doctor Phosphorus' attempt to break his body was difficult to say. The Dark Knight had undergone a bit of a gauntlet prior to even stepping foot in their unique facility.

Just as the previous room had been copper-plated to assist Phosphorus in weakening Batman, this room had been altered as well. The walls were painted black, but with silver streaks laced throughout in odd intervals, a seemingly random pattern. The standard lights were replaced with strobes. A low-level hum was piped in over hidden speakers, which changed pitch every few seconds. The entire room had been designed to create confusion and disorientation.

They would all have their chance, of course, but Zodiac honestly thought that his opportunity to break and embarrass Batman would be the most effective. Phosphorus was to wear him down physically, give him burns all over his body, making it painful even for him to move. The others after him would have their own fears to instill as well, but Zodiac would lay the groundwork for their particular pursuits.

The stolen gem at the center of his turban, bolstered by Doctor Tzin-Tzin, gave Zodiac the power to break Batman in a much different way. He would run him ragged through the chambers of his own mind until he was nothing more than a babbling fool.

Batman hobbled into the chamber and Zodiac pressed the button from his safe perch, sealing off the room completely. He smiled as he leaned forward to speak into the microphone, eager to hear his own voice fill the room.

"Welcome, Batman," Zodiac said. "Welcome…to your own private hell."

Power radiated from Zodiac's gem, flooding all of Batman's senses at once. His perceptions we already skewering and Zodiac could practically feel the vigilante's anxiety heighten.

Batman was in Zodiac's thrall once again, and there he would remain, forced to endlessly live out the consequences of his actions.

 **BATMAN #6**

" **Hospital of Pain – Part Two"**

 **Written D. Golightly**

"Fire!"

There was a thick fog over Gotham tonight, rolling off of the waterways. The summer heat was shifting and soon he would have to think about switching suits. Sometimes the padded armor collected more body heat and made it difficult to move as the sweat collected.

Batman homed in on the cry for help, knowing full well that it was anything but a warning of a pending blaze. In self-defense classes, they always taught people to shout that there was a fire, because people who called for help were often ignored. Perhaps more so in Gotham.

He raced to the edge of the rooftop and leapt off without pause. He knew the city well, so much so that he barely even had to glance at the gargoyle at the corner of the building when he aimed his grappler and fired it. It wrapped around the head, pulling his cable taught, and anchoring him as he flew out into the night.

He didn't have far to travel. Between the two buildings closest to him, he saw a woman being assaulted. The assailant, a common thug from the looks of it, had her purse already, but hadn't ran off. That meant he was after more than just money.

Batman rapidly descended, pulling back on the cable when he was a dozen feet from the ground. He released and fell the remaining way, landing gracefully and allowing his cape to shroud him. He had appeared nearly silently just a few feet from the hoodlum.

"Whoa!" the thug said as he let the woman go. He took a few steps back and then bolted.

There were several different ways he could stop the man, most of which were relatively harmless. The woman cowered away from him, obviously in shock, and understandably so.

Batman reached into his belt and selected a **batarang**.

He slapped the air in front of him and launched the weapon with perfect aim. It whistled through the air for a moment before it smacked into the back of the thug's head, knocking him down.

The woman screamed again and then ran out into the street, waving her arms.

Batman turned back to the thug, walked over to his unconscious body, and recovered the purse. He left it dangling over the mugger's head from a fire escape after tying him up for the police to find.

He was about to radio the GCPD to provide an anonymous tip about the assault so they could come pick the mugger up, **but red and blue flashing lights filled the alleyway.**

It looked like the woman had actually succeeded in flagging down a police cruiser. It wasn't entirely uncommon for the GCPD to be in this neighborhood, but they must have been off their regular patrol, because Batman didn't recognize the car or the officers stepping out of it.

The officers talked to the woman for a moment, who looked disheveled and terrified. She pointed at him, wildly gesticulating. The officers glanced at him, their eyes went wide, and they each withdrew their firearms.

"Freeze!" they shouted in unison.

Batman took half a step back and reached into his belt for his grappler again. He wasn't surprised. This was a common response to his presence. Bullock made sure that anyone who would listen received his opinion of Batman.

Batman cupped the grappler, as well as a few smoke pellets to dissuade the officers from firing at him, but paused. In his peripheral vision he saw something red.

A pool of blood was forming at his feet, which he traced back to the mugger. His head had been split open where the batarang had struck him, which was baffling.

Not only had Batman not thrown it hard enough to do any real damage, but he had been sure to select a blunted batarang. The mugger's skull had been split open, ripped really, by something sharp and aggressive.

Batman's eyes swept over the alley, but no one else was there.

The police shouted again, and the woman was shouting, too, screaming, "He killed him! He killed him!"

Batman flung the pellets down hard, breaking the casing, and the chemicals instead, upon exposure to oxygen, rapidly covered the alley in thick, dark smoke. He launched his grappler and quickly ascended back into the night.

He heard more sirens approaching and patched into the police band radio using his earpiece. They were putting out an APB for him now, claiming that he was a suspect in a homicide.

This was all wrong. He was being set up. **He would never kill. But there had been no one else in that alley. He was sure of it.**

As he raced through the night, a feeling of panic began to set in.

He couldn't help but wonder just what the hell was happening.

"Fire!"

There was a thick fog over Gotham tonight, rolling off of the waterways. The summer heat was shifting and soon he would have to think about switching suits. Sometimes the padded armor collected more body heat and made it difficult to move as the sweat collected.

Batman homed in on the cry for help, knowing full well that it was anything but a warning of a pending blaze. In self-defense classes, they always taught people to shout that there was a fire, because people who called for help were often ignored. Perhaps more so in Gotham.

He raced to the edge of the rooftop and leapt off without pause. He knew the city well, so much so that he barely even had to glance at the gargoyle at the corner of the building when he aimed his grappler and fired it. It wrapped around the head, pulling his cable taught, and anchoring him as he flew out into the night.

He didn't have far to travel. Between the two buildings closest to him, he saw a woman being assaulted. The assailant, a common thug from the looks of it, had her purse already, but hadn't ran off. That meant he was after more than just money.

Batman rapidly descended, pulling back on the cable when he was a dozen feet from the ground. He released and fell the remaining way, landing gracefully and allowing his cape to shroud him. He had appeared nearly silently just a few feet from the hoodlum.

"Whoa!" the thug said as he let the woman go. He took a few steps back and then bolted.

There were several different ways he could stop the man, most of which were relatively harmless. The woman cowered away from him, obviously in shock, and understandably so.

Batman reached into his belt and selected a **bolo whip**.

He slapped the air in front of him and launched the weapon with perfect aim. It whistled through the air for a moment before wrapping itself around the thug's legs, knocking him down.

The woman screamed again, but remained pressed up against the brick wall, noticeably shivering and terrified.

Batman turned back to the thug, walked over to where he struggled with the cable wrapped tight around his legs, and said, "You're not welcome in my city."

The mugger's eyes went wide. Batman didn't recognize him, so this was likely the first time that the mugger had ever seen him before. Batman allowed the rumors of his presence to float through the underworld, knowing that the visage they created in criminals' minds were powerful tools in this work. This one had obviously heard some of them.

"Don't…don't kill me," he sputtered.

In answer, Batman silently scooped up the purse and left it dangling from a fire escape overhead.

He was about to radio the GCPD to provide an anonymous tip about the assault so they could some pick the mugger up, **but a gunshot went off**.

Something punched into Batman's back. His body armor caught the bullet and his heads-up display registered it as a .22 caliber. He whirled to see the woman aiming a gun at him with a huge sneer plastered on her face.

"Stay right there, Batsy," she said, and her voice was somehow familiar. "Just one second, okay? I need to take care of something first."

She changed her aim and he quickly realized what she was about to do. Before he could even shout to stop her, she squeezed back the trigger and the mugger's head exploded.

Red and blue flashing lights filled the alleyway. A police cruiser swerved to a stop at the head of the alley, apparently attracted by the gun shot. Two officers that Batman didn't recognize spilled out, their weapons already drawn.

The woman even looked familiar, but who was she? He didn't have time to figure this out. Not here. Not now. Both officers were shouting at him now and he was starting to see a pool of red blood.

The woman started shouting, "He killed him! He killed him!

Batman cupped the grappler, as well as a few smoke pellets to dissuade the officers from firing at him. He flung the pellets down hard, breaking the casing, and the chemicals instead, upon exposure to oxygen, rapidly covered the alley in thick, dark smoke. He launched his grappler and quickly ascended back into the night.

He heard more sirens approaching and patched into the police band radio using his earpiece. They were putting out an APB for him now, claiming that he was a suspect in a homicide.

This was all wrong. He was being set up. **But by who? The woman's voice sounded familiar, but for some reason he couldn't quite place it.**

As he raced through the night, a feeling of panic began to set in.

He couldn't help but wonder just what the hell was happening.

Two faceless guards trotted by the shadows concealing the teenage Robin, quickly followed by three of Doctor Double X's duplicates. It was the third such contingent that he had avoided since escaping their rudimentary trap. They were searching for him and while he was confident that he could avoid them every time, he knew that time was still running out. He couldn't waist what precious minutes he had playing cat and mouse.

This Double X hadn't been in any of the recent files, but he did recognize the work of Doctor No-Face. That was at least two villains he would have to deal with, along with seventeen individual henchmen so far. Child's play, of course, but the goal wasn't to thwart their captors. Not yet.

He needed to reach Batman. Even though he had only been under his father's tutelage for a short time, in comparison against Dick Grayson, the standard on which all are judged, he already knew how important it was for him to has support. His father was capable, yes, but tactical support was a vital aspect to ensuring a win.

Robin slipped out from behind a stack of empty crates that had once housed medical supplies, silently rushing down through the corridor. Judging from where the henchmen seemed to be coming from, this had to be a route to Batman. He hit a t-intersection and turned right.

He no sooner rounded a corner than realized his fatal mistake.

"Is this our-"

"-little partridge?"

A half dozen of Double X's duplicates, which claimed to all be a part of some kind of hive mind, awaited him. He turned, but was immediately closed in by the others that had passed him just moments ago.

He had rushed forward without taking the time to map out his surroundings, and know he was paying for it. He knew the approximate width of the building just from mapping the corridors, and had be paused for a moment, he would have realized that turning where he had would put him at the entrance to a stairwell, which was now like a dead end.

Robin flexed his fingers and pivoted so that his back was to the center of the t-intersection, with the two groups on his right and left.

"Let's go-"

"-back to-"

"-your cage."

Robin smirked. "Come and get me," he replied.

They charged him from both sides, a plethora of duplicates with a pair of the faceless men in the mix. He backflipped and kicked off of the wall in the center of the t-intersection, springing himself back down the perpendicular corridor. Now, at the very least, he would have all of his quarry in front of him.

He immediately twisted and swept his leg out to stumble the closest duplicate, knocking down two more given their close proximity. A faceless henchman reached for him, but he batted the hand away and drove his own fist into the man's solar plexus, simultaneously shoving him back and incapacitating him.

A duplicate managed to grab his other arm, but Robin stabbed his elbow down into the dupe's forearm, hitting the precise pressure point to force a release. He back-handed the dupe, drove his knee into its groin, and fell into a backward somersault to put a little more distance between him and the others.

A pair of thick arms, wrapped in purple spandex, grabbed him from behind. Another dupe, seemingly out of nowhere, had somehow gotten behind him. He chided himself and struggled, but the bear hug was too tight.

"Never send a copy to do the original's job," Doctor Double X stated. He yanked Robin off of his feet and tightened his grip even further. "I don't believe that you're the same young apprentice that helped your mentor thwart me the last time. Are you? No, your hair is different. Interesting."

"What do you want us to do with him?" one of the faceless men asked, which was bizarre, since he had no mouth.

"Inform your master of his capture, then continue to search for the other one."

The faceless men nodded and trotted down the hallway, no doubt in search of their employer as ordered. As soon as they were out of earshot, Doctor Double X muttered, "Useless fools."

"But necessary-"

"-ones," a pair of his duplicates responded as they closed in.

"Indeed. Thankfully, I create my own minions. So much more reliable, wouldn't you agree?"

The duplicates all nodded at once. They had surrounded them now and Robin actually felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead. Several scenarios were running through is calculating mind for how to break away, and while he felt that he could escape from one or two, being surrounded by so many made it impossible for him to get completely free.

"Exactly how many children does the formidable Batman take under his wings?" Double X inquired as he handed Robin off to two of his dupes. "It's very odd, if I do say so. He leads a dangerous life. And yet, he brings toddlers into the lion's den? Very bizarre behavior."

"Give yourself up now," Robin spat back, "and we'll be lenient with you."

Doctor Double X laughed, a throaty guffaw that echoed in the corridor. "Is that so, little partridge? Perhaps you've failed to realize that you're held at bay and your master is currently lost within our chambers. So…who, precisely, is this 'we' that you speak of? Hmm?"

"Me," Robin replied casually. "And her."

Metal wrenched as the overhead ventilation grate was kicked down right on top of Double X, catching him off guard. A lithe figure instantly popped down and smashed down on top of him, slamming her palm into his nose, the bridge of which snapped and a gush of blood came spilling out.

Doctor Double X wobbled for a moment, then his head hit the tiled floor and his eyes rolled back. As soon as he was unconscious the various dupes in the corridor faded away, releasing Robin.

Selina Kyle, sans her Catwoman costume, stood up and took in a deep breath. She then whirled on Robin, fury in her eyes.

"You little brat," she spat out. "I should have left you with them like you left me back there."

"I appreciate your help." He looked down at the knocked-out Double X. "Good guess that his copies would fall apart without him."

"My help?" Selina rolled her eyes. "You are so full of yourself. Why he lets you tag along on these missions, I'll never know."

"We can debate that later," Robin said as he turned to move deeper into the hospital. "Right now, we have more important things to do."

Selina fell in beside him, running down the hall and into the stairwell that had been the cause of Robin's capture. "Any clue where Batman is?" she asked.

Robin began running up the numerous stairs as fast as he could. "We're close to the top floor, and I was going to work my way down to find him, playing the odds."

"And we're headed up because…"

"Getting caught and then your subsequent help made me realize something."

"Help, rescue, salvation," Selina said. "Whatever."

They only had two flights of stairs to go until they reached the exit to the roof. It had been sealed off with two spot welds, but Robin's acetone torch made short work of them. He sliced through and kicked the door open onto the roof, seeing the gloomy city sprawling out before them.

Selina placed a hand on the youth's shoulder. "We can't leave him here," she said.

He shrugged away from her, tapping the side of his mask. His belt had been taken from him, but he had other tools lacing his costume. "Of course we're not leaving," he replied. "But we do need help. I couldn't get a frequency through the hospital walls. Up here, though, I'm already connected to our satellite. I'm sending out an encoded alert. We'll get back-up."

"You have your own satellite?" Selina asked. When Robin ignored her she sighed and said, "Of course you have your own satellite."

"Help will be here soon," Robin said. He turned to race back into the building. "Don't just stand there! C'mon!"

Selina briefly considered just leaping off of the rooftop to freedom, letting the Boy Wonder and his soon-to-arrive back-up to deal with the problems in the hospital. She had been mugged, drugged, and used as bait. She was worn, tired, and ready to go take a long bubble bath.

But Batman needed her. She may have been a thief, and a damn good one, but she knew that Batman would never leave her behind.

She raced in after Robin, wondering when she was going to get into a more stable relationship.

His head was buzzing. Something was wrong.

Batman had raced back to the Batcave, choosing to try and solve the problem from there once he could collect himself.

Why was he so anxious? He was sweating, even though he had driven back and wasn't anywhere near exhausted.

Alfred hadn't answered his calls. The cave was devoid of life. The monitors showed that no one was in the mansion above, either. Dick and Damian were both absent as well, and neither were answering their communicators.

Once seated at the large console connected to the mammoth cray supercomputers buried within the cave, he accessed CCTV footage from the city's traffic cameras. He knew the nearby intersection well and went straight to the closest camera to see if he could pick out some kind of clue as to **what had really happened.**

His first thought had been that **some kind of sniper had flanked him** , using a bladed projective to murder the mugger. But satellite imagery showed that all rooftops with the correct vantage points had been empty.

He picked up the CCTV feed at the right time entry and watched himself drop into the alley, startle the mugger, and throw his **batarang**.

His mouth dropped open. He ripped his mask off, rewound the footage, and watched it again.

 **The batarang sliced into the mugger's scalp like a knife.** Blood and brains splattered all over his clothing as he tumbled down to the alley floor.

Batman watched himself calmly walk over to the **dead mugger** , retrieve his batarang, and then flee when the police arrived.

"No, no, no," he muttered.

He sat back, shaking his head. He wiped sweat off of his forehead. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and it was getting harder to breath.

His thoughts felt muddled. He flashed on a room full of fire and then darkness with swirls of silver streaming throughout. He heard someone's voice in the back of his head, something, someone, somewhere…

" **Bruce.** "

He whirled around to see himself standing just a few feet away. Batman nearly fell out of his chair when he saw Bruce Wayne, immaculately dressed in a Jon Green custom suit, standing casually with his hands in his pockets.

"What's happening?" Batman demanded as he scrambled to get back up.

"You've been targeted," Bruce replied. "Someone is messing with your head."

Batman tried to collect himself and readied his fists, but he felt too weak to even try and put up much of a defense. What was happening to him?

"Obviously," Batman replied. "How else could I be having a conversation with myself?"

Bruce shook his head. "I'm not part of it. I'm a psychic countermeasure, a figment of your imagination that was installed in your subconscious for this precise situation. This is actually the second attack you've succumbed to, but I wasn't able to manifest before. You weren't under long enough. I'm here because someone else is in here, too." Bruce gestured up into the shadows of the cave. "To be more precise, someone is up there. We have to move fast."

"I had a figment of my own imagination installed into my brain?" Batman quipped. "By who?"

"A friend. Look, we don't have a lot of time. While we're arguing down here." Bruce pointed to the ceiling of the cave again. "Someone is scrambling your mind up there."

"Assuming that what you're saying is true, and that I really did have someone upload a defense into my subconscious in case of a psychic attack, how do I know that you really are the defensive measure and not part of the attack itself? You could be here to sew more disinformation."

"We really don't have time for this," Bruce replied.

"Not from my perspective."

"Someone has not only invaded your mind, but they're overloading it as well. They're forcing your brain to live out two similar, but slightly different scenarios. Your brain is having trouble deciding what's real. You need to get upstairs. Now."

"How can I trust you?"

"Because you made sure I would have this," Bruce replied, and he reached into his blazer's inside pocket. He extracted something small and furry. "This is probably going to hurt, which I was trying to avoid in your fragile mental state, but I see no other way."

The furry little thing squeaked and Batman saw tiny wings flap out. Bruce tossed it straight at Batman's head and just before it struck him, he saw that it was a baby brown bat, complete with upturned nose and tiny, sharp teeth.

The bat grasped onto his forehead, its touch burning his skin. His anxiety levels tripled and the mansion upstairs began to rumble. A few stalactites were jarred loose, smashing down into the cave. The console behind him was split open and he was close enough that he felt shards of stone bounce off of his back.

But that didn't matter. All that he could comprehend was the bat, gripping and clawing at his head. He saw visions of his parents, his youth, his travels, his crusade, his everything.

He saw Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. He saw Barbara and Stephanie. He saw Jim and Alfred. He even saw Selina.

His saw himself. He saw a friend, Doctor Fate, a mage of untold power, funneling memories directly into his subconscious. A doctor…

His eyes snapped open and Bruce was gone. Batman slid his mask back into place and raced for the elevator that would take him up to Wayne Manor above. He realized what was happening now.

The elevator let him out behind a bookshelf, which he ripped open to see another doctor, Doctor Zodiac, standing in the center of the mansion's parlor. But Zodiac didn't seem to be aware of his own surroundings at all. His eyes were vacant and energy was pulsing out of the jewel in his turban.

This close to Zodiac, his power was nearly overwhelming. Batman stumbled as he approached, fighting off extreme nausea. He saw another version of events, where **the woman in the alley had shot the mugger** , and she had turned out to be another in a long line of enemies with a vendetta against him.

But that wasn't real. He couldn't get sucked into it. He reached out.

Grabbed the gem.

And crushed it.

His head was buzzing. Something was wrong.

Batman had raced back to the Batcave, choosing to try and solve the problem from there once he could collect himself.

Why was he so anxious? He was sweating, even though he had driven back and wasn't anywhere near exhausted.

Alfred hadn't answered his calls. The cave was devoid of life. The monitors showed that no one was in the mansion above, either. Dick and Damian were both absent as well, and neither were answering their communicators.

Once seated at the large console connected to the mammoth cray supercomputers buried within the cave, he accessed CCTV footage from the city's traffic cameras. He knew the nearby intersection well and went straight to the closest camera to see if he could pick out some kind of clue as to **who the woman was.**

His first thought had been that **the woman had set him up** , luring him there with an accomplice standing in as the mugger, which meant that they had to know his basic patrol routines, which in turn meant it was a familiar rogue.

He picked up the CCTV feed at the right time entry and watched himself drop into the alley, startle the mugger, and throw his **bolo whip**.

His mouth dropped open. He ripped his mask off, rewound the footage, and watched it again.

 **The woman looked directly into the CCTV camera and blew him a kiss.** He recognized her instantly. How had he not seen who it was before?

Doctor Harleen Frances Quinzel, a.k.a. **Harley Quinn**. He had allowed himself to walk directly into her trap, and now a man was dead.

"No, no, no," he muttered.

He sat back, shaking his head. He wiped sweat off of his forehead. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and it was getting harder to breath.

His thoughts felt muddled. He flashed on a room full of fire and then darkness with swirls of silver streaming throughout. He heard someone's voice in the back of his head, something, someone, somewhere…

" **Bruce.** "

He whirled around to see himself standing just a few feet away. Batman nearly fell out of his chair when he saw Bruce Wayne, immaculately dressed in a Jon Green custom suit, standing casually with his hands in his pockets.

"What's happening?" Batman demanded as he scrambled to get back up.

"You've been targeted," Bruce replied. "Someone is messing with your head."

Batman tried to collect himself and readied his fists, but he felt too weak to even try and put up much of a defense. What was happening to him?

"Obviously," Batman replied. "How else could I be having a conversation with myself?"

Bruce shook his head. "I'm not part of it. I'm a psychic countermeasure, a figment of your imagination that was installed in your subconscious for this precise situation. This is actually the second attack you've succumbed to, but I wasn't able to manifest before. You weren't under long enough. I'm here because someone else is in here, too." Bruce gestured up into the shadows of the cave. "To be more precise, someone is up there. We have to move fast."

"I had a figment of my own imagination installed into my brain?" Batman quipped. "By who?"

"A friend. Look, we don't have a lot of time. While we're arguing down here." Bruce pointed to the ceiling of the cave again. "Someone is scrambling your mind up there."

"Assuming that what you're saying is true, and that I really did have someone upload a defense into my subconscious in case of a psychic attack, how do I know that you really are the defensive measure and not part of the attack itself? You could be here to sew more disinformation."

"We really don't have time for this," Bruce replied.

"Not from my perspective."

"Someone has not only invaded your mind, but they're overloading it as well. They're forcing your brain to live out two similar, but slightly different scenarios. Your brain is having trouble deciding what's real. You need to get upstairs. Now."

"How can I trust you?"

"Because you made sure I would have this," Bruce replied, and he reached into his blazer's inside pocket. He extracted something small and furry. "This is probably going to hurt, which I was trying to avoid in your fragile mental state, but I see no other way."

The furry little thing squeaked and Batman saw tiny wings flap out. Bruce tossed it straight at Batman's head and just before it struck him, he saw that it was a baby brown bat, complete with upturned nose and tiny, sharp teeth.

The bat grasped onto his forehead, its touch burning his skin. His anxiety levels tripled and the mansion upstairs began to rumble. A few stalactites were jarred loose, smashing down into the cave. The console behind him was split open and he was close enough that he felt shards of stone bounce off of his back.

But that didn't matter. All that he could comprehend was the bat, gripping and clawing at his head. He saw visions of his parents, his youth, his travels, his crusade, his everything.

He saw Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian. He saw Barbara and Stephanie. He saw Jim and Alfred. He even saw Selina.

His saw himself. He saw a friend, Doctor Fate, a mage of untold power, funneling memories directly into his subconscious. A doctor…

His eyes snapped open and Bruce was gone. Batman slid his mask back into place and raced for the elevator that would take him up to Wayne Manor above. He realized what was happening now.

The elevator let him out behind a bookshelf, which he ripped open to see another doctor, Doctor Zodiac, standing in the center of the mansion's parlor. But Zodiac didn't seem to be aware of his own surroundings at all. His eyes were vacant and energy was pulsing out of the jewel in his turban.

This close to Zodiac, his power was nearly overwhelming. Batman stumbled as he approached, fighting off extreme nausea. He saw another version of events, where **he had killed the mugger in the alley** , perhaps by mistake, or perhaps through another twist of this altered reality he was living through.

But that wasn't real. He couldn't get sucked into it. He reached out.

Grabbed the gem.

And crushed it.

Batman gulped in a deep breath, feeling like his brain was on fire. He blinked several times and saw that he was in the next section of the burn ward, just beyond where he had faced Phosphorus. Between the strobing lights he could see that the walls here were painted black with swirls of silver, and there was some kind low-level hum being piped in. He quickly tapped his masked just above the eye slots and again near his ears. Special lenses to counteract the disorienting strobe effect slid into place and his hearing became muffled to drown out the distracting humming.

He took a moment to collect himself and then looked at what appeared to be an observation room hanging above the far end of the room. This must have once been an operating room, complete with an area for students or other personnel to watch and learn. But instead of medical professionals and eager pupils, there sat Doctor Zodiac, perched in front of a microphone.

Batman reacted by reaching for his utility belt, but he forgot that it had been removed already. He relaxed, though, when he saw that Zodiac would no longer be a threat. His turban was ruffled, the gem split in two, and his eyes blank. A small trickle of drool seeped out of his mouth.

A door beneath the observation room slid open, beckoning Batman to enter. He was battered from his trials already, but knew that he had to proceed. Robin was somewhere in the facility, possibly going through his own gauntlet, and would need his help. There were also undoubtedly more villains throughout this "Hospital of Pain."

As much as his body was screaming at him to forego the next nightmarish showcase, he stepped forward, instead focusing on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The doorway swallowed him whole, and sealed shut behind him.

 _NEXT: Tzin awaits!_


	7. VILLAINS: The Joker

_NOTE: This story follows up on event that happened in the first few issues of my Batman series. Please read those first!_

 **VILLAINS: The Joker**

"Stop me if you've heard this one."

The Joker set down an oversized red bag, almost comically huge, onto a dirty, wooden table. The warehouse surrounding them looked just as dingy, with soapy windows, cobwebs, and refuse piled everywhere.

While most of his contemporaries preferred to lie low in abandoned buildings, he had actually purchased this one. The paperwork may have been slightly askew, noting the owner as an offshore holding company that didn't really exist, but if no one looked too deep then for all intents and purposes this was a legitimately owned building. He had paid cash for it and everything. He figured that it would keep the Bat away, at least for a little while. He even had a contract with his own fake company to import sardines.

"A cop pulls a man over for speeding," the Joker continues as he begins to extract various implements from the red bag. He glanced at a hacksaw, considering it for a moment, then discarding it on the floor by tossing it over his shoulder. He pulled out a feather duster and immediately discarded it, muttering, "How did that get in there?"

Behind him, a muffled warble of alarm rises, choked back by the strip of cloth holding in a ball gag.

"So, he pulls the guy over, right? And he taps on the window and the guy rolls it down and says, 'Evening, officer! What can I do for ya?'"

The Joker pulled out a mallet, tossed it away in favor of an even larger mallet, considered it, but then tossed it over his shoulder, too. More garbled and muffled yelling implored the Joker to stop.

"The cop says, 'Do you know how fast you were going, sir?' To which the man replies, 'Oh, golly, yes, I was going at least seventy.'"

A ballpein hammer came out next and the Joker swung it through the air a few times, mimicking smashing something. He seemed declassified with the grip, though, and ended up dropping it to the floor, too.

"'Well, the speed limit here is only thirty-five, sir,' the cop says. 'I'm going to have to give you a ticket.' And the man just smiles and slaps his hands together, rubbing them all frantic. And the cop says, 'Why are you so happy? I'm about to write you a pretty hefty ticket.'"

The Joker extracted a large handsaw with rusted teeth. He runs his white-gloved finger up and down the saw's teeth, smiling, happy that he's finally found the perfect instrument for the task at hand.

"And do you know what the man says back to the cop?" the Joker asks as he turns to face his captured prey. "That slick operator says, 'I know I can beat that!' And he peels off leaving the cop standing there with a surprised look on his face. Kind of like the look you have on your face, Jimbo."

The Joker flexed the long saw between his hands, bowing the blade slightly as he approached Commissioner James Gordon, who was tied hand and foot to a chair in the center of the warehouse. His face was bruised from repeated beatings and his protests were stifled by the ball gag tied in place by a torn piece of cloth around his head.

"Sorry," the Joker said with a shrug, "it's the only cop joke I know. Well, the only good one anyway. There's the one about the police officer and the randy porcupine, but that one is too vulgar even for my tastes. HA!"

A door opened, causing the Joker to turn away with a look of pure hatred on his face. He watched as two burly men came sauntering into the warehouse, marching a much smaller, bald man between them. He felt ready to unleash his fury on the dimwitted lackeys, but when he saw who was with them, his anger subsided. Slightly.

"Ah, the good doctor!" the Joker proclaimed as he tossed the saw away with a flourish. "Don't mind us. We're just catching up on ol' times, the Commissioner and I. Come in, come in!"

Doctor Hugo Strange adjusted his glasses and looked the tied Commissioner up and down. "Indeed," the besmirched psychiatrist responded. "I'm sorry to…interrupt, but I have a flight to catch."

"Thank you for saying goodbye before your _bon voyage_ , doctor!" the Joker said, and he turned back to his large red bag to find yet another instrument. "Don't let the door hit you and all that."

Strange cleared his throat. "There is the matter of payment," he said.

The Joker looked up, seemingly dumbfounded. "Don't tell me I neglected to pay my bills! Oh, my insurance company is going to give me an ear full. Heh! Of course, of course. Billy, pay the man."

The brutish mountain men looked at each other before one of them finally said, "I'm Kevin."

"Obviously," the Joker stated. "I meant the other Neanderthal."

"Uh…I'm Aloysius."

The Joker blinked. "My word. Your parents didn't like you very much, did they? From now on, you're both named Billy. Got that? Good. Now I won't be embarrassed again. Give the good doctor his payment, will you?"

The Billies glanced at each other again, unsure of what to do. They looked back at the Joker, who seemed to have forgotten them as he rooted through his bag once more.

Strange looked at both thugs and then stomped over to the Joker with a look of annoyance on his face. "This is ridiculous," Strange said. "We had a deal. I not only arranged for your escape from Arkham, but I also organized your little hospital operation to be put into effect, nullifying the Batman completely." _*_

 _* [Referring to the current Hospital of Pain story arc running through the Batman title!]_

"Yes, you did, didn't you?" the Joker said casually. "And you do remember how you were able to pull off helping me throw Batman off his game, right?"

The Joker snapped his fingers, and at once the Billies grabbed Strange by the arms, holding him in place. Strange struggled, but he was no match for the two behemoths. He bellowed for them to release him, but one of the Billies wrapped a huge hand around his mouth to silence him. He stopped protesting when the Joker approached, coming up only inches away from his face.

"You dug around through my brain, implanted trigger words, and masked my own memories from me," the Joker said. "You're a real Picasso when it comes to brain scrambling, doc! In every sense of the word. But I can't let you just walk away, now can I? Not when you've been rummaging through my head. Who's to say you didn't implant something else in there without me knowing, hmm? Hence why Billy here is not allowing you to talk anymore."

The Joker turned back to his bag while the Billies moved Strange over beside the Commissioner, holding him upright. All the while, James Gordon could do nothing but watch.

"Stop me if you've heard this one, doc!" the Joker said as he turned back to face them, this time holding up a whoopie cushion. "A man with a horrible cold goes to see his doctor, and he says, 'Doctor, I am having the worst time! This cold is so bad that it hurts just to talk!'"

One of the Billies tilted Strange's head back so that his mouth was still covered, but his throat was bare. The Joker sneered and held up the whoopie cushion in front of Strange's face. "So, the doctor says, 'Then just stop talking.'"

He squeezed the whoopie cushion, and as the signature sound of the cushion deflating filled the warehouse, a green gas also spat out onto Strange's exposed throat. The gas quickly condensed into droplets as it hits the skin, burning through quickly. The acid gnawed away at Strange's esophagus and he started to scream in panic.

The Billies both jumped back to avoid getting any of the acid on themselves as Strange fell to his knees, clutching at his throat. His hands came away burned as the acid tried eating through them as well. After a long moment the acid boiled away, leaving Strange with a deeply scared throat and hands.

The Joker leaned down and smiled. He said, "There! Problem solved. Here's your money."

He dropped a fat envelope overflowing with hundred dollar bills into Strange's lap. He snapped his fingers again and the Billies scooped Strange and the envelope up and began to depart the warehouse.

"Oh, and doctor!" the Joker called out. "If you did implant more triggers and you decide to exact revenge by sharing them with someone else, I can assure you that you won't live long enough to see the outcome. In fact, if I ever see you again, you better hope it's because I'm looking down on you from Heaven. Good day, doctor!"

As the Billies removed a sobbing Strange from the warehouse and the door slammed shut behind them, the Joker reclaimed his discarded rusty saw from the floor. Like a child having found his favorite toy again, the Joker skipped back over to the Commissioner and brandished the saw in his face once more.

"Sorry for all the hubbub, Commish! Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Let's you and me have a little conversation about our mutual masked friend, shall we? Starting with the cute little signal he left for you. I want to know all about it, okay? Starting with when it was delivered, who delivered it, and how long he normally takes to show up. Then, if I like your answers, maybe I'll only cut off one of your hands."

The only sounds echoing throughout the warehouse that were louder than the Commissioner's screams were the uncontrolled, unbridled bouts of laughter.

 _TO BE CONTINUED IN BATMAN!_


End file.
